


Nothing Without You

by NeuroWriter14



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Cannibalism, Do not repost, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 69,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: Soulmates are a rare occurrence. Soulmate relationships are forged, built over time. Whenever the relationship with another elevates to the level of soulmate, the words they say appear on the other's body with a burn. Soulmates could be platonic or romantic in nature, but they are always the deepest bonds.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 98
Kudos: 664
Collections: Hannibal





	1. Prologue

Death.

What a concept.

Death is a foreign, unknowable thing. Humans try to understand death. Try to reason with it, try to make sense of it, try and try to know what happens when death occurs. Death always leaves survivors, those who it didn't take. Those left, after Death has come and gone, are left with the knowledge that someday it will return for them too. Death claims all at one point or another. Yet it's the most foreign concept the mind has ever invented. One day here, the next gone. Trying to understand, to reason, to feel, to know, is impossible for the human mind. Death came, one way or another, by the hand of another or by nature itself. Death comes and it takes. And what it leaves behind is a shell, a hole where life once filled. 

It was raining, the world grey and gloomy as though it knew. It must know something. Death comes for everything and everyone. Maybe the world knew about this death too. There weren't many people at the funeral; one or two coworkers, an acquaintance or two, and a son who wasn't really a son at all. He was as much a son as the man in the coffin was a father. It rained, but he didn't use an umbrella. The rain beat down on his hair, on his clothes, on the unrepentant ground. It tried to wash everything away, and one day it would. One day, everything would be water once again, everything would be claimed once more. He watched as the wooden coffin was lowered into the dirt. He watched as the ground claimed the wood grown from its depths once more. He watched as wires lowered, he watched as rain splattered on the surface. He watched. The clouds wept for a tragedy they didn't understand. But he did not weep. He only watched. 

One by one, the others filtered away, with pats on shoulders and gruff goodbyes. Death claimed another and he watched them pull away.

He stood there, at the edge of the pit as wet dirt was poured over the coffin, as the ground closed once more around that which it gave. 

Will watched, his hands in his drenched pants pockets of the suits he hated wearing as the ground claimed his father once more. It had been a hard battle, as all were against Death. Some went quick, some went slow. Some went painlessly, and some went with the pain tearing them apart on the insides. Some knew who they were when Death came, and some didn't know that their last enemy was coming at all. Life was a fight, life was hard and terrifying and fulfilling and monumentally insane. And they still lived it, until Death came for them. 

He didn't know what emotions he was feeling as he stared into the ground. He could see the dirt, he could see the wood, he could see the sorrow in the faces around him as they filtered away one by one. He could feel their emotions as if they were his own, but they weren't. In fact, he wasn't certain he had any emotions at the moment. He just felt numb. 

Will had taken care of his father as Death crept toward him. His father had fixed boats up and down the length of the Mississippi, everywhere from Michigan to Louisiana. It was a poor job at some points. Some shipping yards weren't well maintained, and some of the boats were old. Asbestos wreaked havoc on the body. That, coupled with little access to health care, had sent Wills father to the grave. Cancer was a terrible foe and that was the fight his father had lost. 

The rain beat down, echoing off of his suit jacket, beating on his head and plastering his hair against his scalp. On days like this, his shoulder hurt. Reminders of the days he had spent as a cop, the day he was stabbed. He lifted his head to the grey sky, letting rain batter his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his chin. The rain would pass, the days would continue moving by. And he would move with them. He would be there through storms and Death and days until the day Death returned for him, to claim him once more. 

Life and Death were lovers, sending gifts between them. But sometimes, they would give those gifts a gift of their own. It wasn't that he believed in God, or that he didn't believe in God. It was that he had never truly thought about what occurred between Life and Death and beyond Death. But those cruel deities had given them something else to manage the in-between. Souls, and those who occupied the other half. His father had never found or foraged a soulmate, the only person he truly left behind was Will, his son. Will could understand others, he could live in their shoes as if they were his own, but he was separate from them. Always separate. He kept himself separate. Even with his father, he had learned that keeping a distance was the most advantageous thing he could do. He had followed his father across the country, his father worked and he went to school. And then they were apart. His father worked and he went to school. And then he returned to the first place he could call home, he tried to save lives to beat back the darkness within, the capability of Death he held in his hands. Death tried to come for him, but it missed, leaving him with a reminder always. And then Death was ready to visit him once more, but it wasn't him Death came for. He watched as Death slowly collected pieces of his father, and pulled him into the grave. 

His father never found a soulmate. He thought he wouldn't either.

* * *

Life is filled with choices, choices that could mean the difference between continuing to live or falling into the clutches of Death. He knew those choices exist, he had been faced with one himself. How terrifying it was to see Death so intimately, and yet he was never terrified. He was never afraid. Mostly because Death had yet to come for him. But it was close. One wrong move and he would embrace an alternate eternity. He believed in God just as he believed in the Devil. He wasn't going to meet them yet. 

His parents died when he was young, leaving him with his sister in his care. Disease didn't care who it took, it didn't care who it left. It took his parents, they died only a few days apart from each other. First his mother, and then his father. It left him with his sister, seemingly alone in a wide, empty world. He did his best, to take care of them both, but he was still a child himself. No matter how much of a father he tried to be to his sister, he wasn't. Disease didn't care how rich or poor someone was, it didn't care that they lived in a castle. It didn't care. Just as others didn't care. When Mischa's death came, Hannibal was faced with a choice. Join her and their parents in Death, or fight to live. Fight to stay amongst the right. Fight to continue fighting.

He chose life. 

He chose to live and to fight and find a life worthy of him to live. 

That life was Death. He had become intimately acquainted with Death. Death was his bedfellow. His uncle took him in when he was 16, three years after the death of his parents and one year after the death of Mischa. He wasn't with his aunt and uncle long, only long enough to find more family and to find the one who took the last of his immediate family away. He never lied when he said it was another person who killed Mischa. She died at the hands of a man who stumbled upon Castle Lecter, expecting to find it empty and abandoned. It wasn't abandoned, but after Mischa's death, it might as well have been. He left the man in the care of another, making his life hers to give or take as she pleased. He hoped it would be the latter.

He and Death stayed acquainted as it claimed his aunt and uncle. At 18, he left what little was left of his family, and began to search out Death on his own. He could manufacture it with his own hands and he began to. Life had given him art, to see, to understand, to copy. And he made art of Death. Whatever game Life and Death were playing, he was playing too. He laid his art at the feet of Death, hurrying along the gifts Life had given. He gave Life a gift as well, making that which he took into the art it provided. The world was beautiful, harsh and unyielding, but beautiful. He wanted to contribute to that beauty.

His life had been forever changed when he chose to keep living it. His tastes were refined, expanded. Life and Death provided him with art and nourishment, and in return, he gave his own art. His own contribution to the harsh beauty around him. 

The beauty of Life came in various forms. Before his parents had died, they had been soulmates. Perhaps that's why father followed his mother into the grave so willingly. To live without the other half of one's soul was not living at all. 

He believed in God, he believed in the divine beauty of God's work and wrath, but he never believed that God had forged his soul in two, as he had with so many others. Pairs came together, completing the whole. He had thought his soul stood on its own, his darkness stood on its own. Like Life and Death, darkness and light were counterparts, and he stood with one foot in each. It was as unlikely that someone straddled the two worlds the way he did. He stood in moral ambiguity, seeing both darkness and light, seeing the best and worst in himself, and he embraced both. He wasn't dark and he wasn't light. He wasn't Life and he wasn't Death.

But he had the makings of all of it within himself.


	2. Before

Two Years Ago

Jack stared at the image of Miriam Lass in front of him. All FBI trainees had their pictures taken for their IDs upon entering the Academy. Jack was always incredibly grateful that those weren't the pictures that accompanied them into the field. He, like others, hated having his picture taken but there was never a good ID picture in the Academy. Yet somehow Miriam Lass looked exactly the same as the day Jack had pulled her from the classroom. The Chesapeake Ripper was a worthy adversary and he never had enough bodies on the Ripper case. He would kill three or four people in a short amount of time and leave their bodies posed as if it were art. He had killed eight people during the course of his investigation, with Miriam Lass likely being the ninth.

Miriam was incredibly intelligent and had proved as much before she ever entered the FBI. She had a degree in psychology, a doctorate in criminology, six years of law enforcement background, and a forensics fellowship. She would not have been an easy person to subdue unless she was surprised. Jack let the picture drop from his fingers. He had been the one to send Miriam into the field. She had written him a letter upon first entering stating that she wanted to work with him and he had given her a chance to do so. During Miriam's stay in the investigation, there had been one more kill, a particularly brutal one. The cause of death was mutilation, as every tool in the man's shop had been expertly shoved through his body in various places. Miriam had been following a lead when she went missing. She must have found the Ripper. Jack looked over at the boxes filled with Miriam's files. He couldn't bring himself to look at them. It was too soon, too raw in his mind. He had been the one to pull Miriam from the classroom, had sent her after the Ripper himself. It felt almost as if he had hand-delivered her to him, gift wrapped. 

Jack looked around the office, seeing the space he had occupied for so long, it felt as though he had permeated every nook and cranny. He had walked over the same carpet, had sat at the same hardwood desk, had used the same boards so much that they were apart of him when he was in the office. Small things changed here and there, he had finally bought himself a coffee machine for his office rather than the shared coffee a few doors down. Everything on his walls were publications or current investigations he was working on. The carpet likely hadn't been changed since the 80s but thankfully it was just plain light grey carpet. The carpet and the walls were the same color except for the wood paneling that was directly behind his desk. It wasn't exactly an office that was meant for visitors as the only two chairs on the other side of his desk were generic and grew uncomfortable after a while. He would have to buy better chairs eventually. Opaque windows let some light in, but not enough so the room was lit with fluorescents making every sharper and harsher. There were two more comfortable chairs across the room that he often used when he didn't want to be at his desk. From there, he could see out his glass door to the rest of the floor. 

He sometimes thought to himself that he should have stayed in the Army. It seemed less complicated to him sometimes. It was the Army that led him to his Bella. She still worked for NATO. Cases took him all over the country, NATO took her all over the Atlantic. She had been at a conference for the last week, he hadn't been able to tell her about Miriam's disappearance. He had come to the office to pack up the Chesapeake Ripper files, but he couldn't force himself to do it. He would just find himself behind his desk, staring at the reminder of his failure. If he hadn't encouraged her to follow those leads, if he had just done it himself the Ripper could be caught and Miriam would go home tonight.

He stood from his desk with a sigh. He had to leave. Everything was becoming too much. His guilt weighed on him, and the more he let it, the worse it would become. He grabbed his jacket and walked out of his office. His movements were more mechanical than anything, he didn't really comprehend his surroundings until he was outside of Quantico, the cool fall air on his cheeks. He stood for a moment, feeling the air cool him and the slight breeze take his thoughts into the distance.

"Excuse me," A voice said as another maneuvered around him. 

"My apologies," He said, catching only a glimpse of dark, curly hair and nothing else as the man walked from the building, a stack of papers in hand.

* * *

Hannibal sipped his coffee as he waited for his other party to show. He had been contacted by Jack Crawford, the head of the Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI, the day before. Hannibal had been recommended by Alana Bloom, a former pupil, to help consult on cases involving another consultant, Will Graham. Jack had offered him information regarding the man in question, but there was little to go on. He knew everything he needed to know about Jack Crawford the moment he had stepped into Hannibal's office but the man he described was a mystery to him. The file provided nothing, not even a picture. He had decided to meet this mystery man in a casual, public setting, hoping to ease the nerves of the other. People tended to be more comfortable meeting someone new in public, more social restrictions that way. Jack would have preferred to have Hannibal meet him in the privacy of his office, but Hannibal didn't want Jack's influence preventing him from seeing the man in question for who he truly was. Hannibal would have preferred that Will Graham came to his office. But if Will was anything like Jack had described him, he wouldn't want to be in a space Hannibal controlled just yet. So, he settled for a happy middle. A mom-and-pop cafe that wasn't too far from his office and not too crowded. There were a grand total of three other people in the cafe, two of whom were employees.

He knew what Will Graham looked like after a quick search about him. The picture had been younger, an article about a stabbing while the man had been a part of the New Orleans Police Department. He couldn't see the other's eyes, however, in the picture. Eyes were always telling, at least to Hannibal. He could look in the depths of another's eyes and see who they were under the veil. It worked best with others like him, those who harbored darkness in their depths. He had come across a couple in his time, especially as a psychiatrist. He had pried that darkness into the light and watched what happened. The results were always spectacular. Will Graham, however, hid behind glasses and downcast eyes. 

He knew the moment Will stepped into the cafe. The entire atmosphere changed. Will's entrance had struck him like lightning. As in the picture, he wore his glasses and buried himself under a thick coat and scarf. His hair was dark and curly and a few curls settled over his forehead. He stood with his posture closed, as though he were protecting himself physically. His eyes found Hannibal, but he avoided eye contact as he gestured to the woman behind the counter. Hannibal nodded, his mind reeling over those ocean blue eyes. Will had escaped from a work of art, he decided. Will didn't meet the barista's eyes either as he ordered, having first looked to see if Hannibal had ordered food before he did. He was trying to be polite, sticking to whatever Hannibal had as he ordered. If Hannibal had ordered food, he suspected Will would have as well. But Hannibal only had his coffee and so that's all Will had ordered. 

Will offered a small smile that didn't reach his eyes as he joined Hannibal at his table by the window. He took off his scarf, carefully placing it on the chair before removing his jacket. Hannibal was almost always overdressed when it came to most circumstances. He preferred suits to most other attire, always making his outward appearance look neat and tidy. Will's outward appearance was something similar. He wore a button-down shirt, tucked into his straight black pants. Nothing about Will was meant to draw any attention to himself. Not his dress, not his glasses, not his posture. He was hiding amongst the crowd, hoping it would dissolve him.

Will glanced up briefly, meeting Hannibal's eyes for a split second, but that was enough. Hannibal saw into those depths, saw within a hint of hidden darkness, saw his intelligence, saw his brilliance. The man hadn't even spoken a word and yet Hannibal wanted more.

"Not fond of eye contact, are you?" Hannibal asked, jumping right past any appropriate introduction.

Will let out a dramatic sigh before he described his opinion on eyes. His eyes met Hannibal's once again as he spoke and Hannibal knew he was well and truly lost. There were things he admired in life; intelligence, insight. Will Graham had both. Hannibal felt a smile pull at his lips as the other talked. Will's eyes moved away from his, muttering a 'thank you' as one of the workers set a cup of coffee in front of him. Will stared at the coffee as if it had the answer to life within its depth. Will stayed folded over himself as he and Hannibal began to talk more, discussing menial things that had absolutely nothing to do with what either of them wanted or were supposed to talk about. 

"Let's just focus on the case," Will said into his coffee.

"Or we could socialize like adults," Hannibal answered. "God forbid we become friendly."

Will looked up at him, a sentence ready on his lips until their eyes met once again. His eyes searched Hannibal's only for a moment before looking somewhere over his shoulder.

"God forbid." He murmured, but there was a small smile pulling at his lips.

The two of them talked for a little longer, both sipping their coffee to fill the silence. He could see the thoughts flying behind the other's eyes, but what those thoughts were a mystery to him. Just as much as everything else about Will. There were things he did know. Will had a law enforcement background, he had an incredibly vivid and insightful imagination, and he was everything opposite of Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal was a peacock, showing his colors for the world to see even if by different faces. Will hid in plain sight, but hid nonetheless, hoping never to be seen. Hannibal could see Will lived with Death as much as he did, but their interactions were different. And he knew, as though it were the most obvious thing he had ever seen, that Will was hiding something, something Hannibal could very much relate to.

The conversation shifted to the case Will was currently working on, the case Hannibal was meant to help him work on but Will seemed hesitant to talk about it.

"Would you feel more comfortable in a more private setting?" He asked. Will didn't answer. "My office is just around the corner. You could speak freely." _Please speak freely._ He added to himself. Will nodded after a moment, his eyes following his thoughts on the table as if they were printed in front of him.

Seeing Will in his office made his more possessive side happy. Will didn't hesitate to explore, walking around the office, his fingers combing over everything as if it were his. He wasn't even certain the other knew he was doing it, but he let him. As he waited, Will began to lay out the facts of the case. Watching his mind work was fascinating. He could see every jump his mind made as he explained the details. As Will talked, he could almost see the scene in front of him as clearly as if he had been there. Every word the other chose was deliberate, painting a picture until Hannibal was almost certain Will had been there himself.

The case was rather interesting. Man-made angels. But it wasn't the case that fascinated him. He certainly believed in God and the idea of a man making angels to watch over him while he slept was intriguing. But the way Will described it was what caught his attention the most. The thoughts and emotions of the killer seemed to manifest through Will's body and from his mouth to the point where there was a shadow in the room between them, the shadow of a killer Will had brought to life.

He would do anything to see more.

He climbed the ladder to the mezzanine, feeling Will's eyes on him at all times. The pair spoke about the case more as Hannibal pulled a book from his shelf, leaning over the railing and tossing it to Will. The other caught it easily, setting it down on Hannibal's desk as if it were his own. Hannibal talked, but only half his attention was in his words. The other was on Will. 

It was an hour before Will was called into the office. Hannibal was ready to show him out when Will turned abruptly, his eyes still not meeting Hannibal's but an odd look on his face.

"Thank you, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal inclined his head slightly, "Of course, Will."

The other left the room, but he had permanently solidified his place in Hannibal's mind.


	3. Gods, Angels, and Men

The next day there were two bodies.

The first body was found in Cleveland and followed the Angel Makers M.O. perfectly. The skin from the back was removed and pulled upward, hung by fishing hooks to give the illusion of wings. The body was strung in a set of rafters, arms and makeshift wings holding it aloft. The killer's severed genitalia were at the scene on a mattress where he presumably slept. They would be able to find the killer easily with plenty of DNA for them to use. The mutilation of the killer by himself was enough to tell Will that he was coming to terms with his impending death. The vomit left at the last scene had traces of drugs used in chemotherapy, suggesting death was near for the killer. This killer wouldn't be one to catch, he would meet death on his own terms though if he took anyone else with him, Will didn't know.

The second body, however, was not a victim of the Angel Maker. The body was found in Baltimore and was far too elaborate for her to have met the Angel Maker. Will walked around the body, taking in every aspect of this murder. From the moment he saw it, he knew it was a different killer. Something in the back of his mind went off, an alarm that he couldn't quite figure out. Much like the Angel Maker's victims, the woman's back was skinned, with the skin pulled up to mimic wings. However, the skinning wasn't the end of this killer's work. The skin was further cut and pulled, making it look more like wings from a Renaissance painting rather than the smooth wings on the Angel Maker's victims. The victim was posed on her knees, her back bent so her chest was facing upward. Her wings were held up by fishhooks, along with her arms, which were stretched outward at her side, her palms up. Her face was frozen in horror, her eyes wide and mouth open. But it didn't stop there. Her face was covered in additional eyes, likely from various animals. She had what looked like crow or raven's feathers braided into her hair and antlers somehow balanced on her head. Will couldn't help but think it was beautiful. This killer didn't so much depict an angel as much as a god. 

Will knelt in front of the body, closing his eyes and seeing the killer work behind his eyes. He could see every detail of the killer's plan as though he were the one behind the deed. He could see the meticulous construction, how long the victim lived until she eventually succumbed to the mutilation, the deliberateness of the placement. He opened his eyes, looking around him at the buildings on either side. The rest of the team moved forward as they saw him shift, ready to begin their aspect of the investigation. Will stood, still looking at the buildings. They were in an alley where the sun barely reached. On their left was a church, stretching into the sky, and on the right was a library. Jack approached him, hoping to hear Will's take on this newest murder, but Will's mind was flying with other thoughts.

"Has anyone checked these buildings?" He walked from the alley without waiting for an answer. He stood at the entrance to the alley his head moving back and forth between the two buildings. Why he felt as though there was something he was missing, he couldn't explain. But for some reason, he felt as though the buildings called to him. There was something else, but he didn't know how he knew it. The placement of the body was deliberate, between the library and the church. 

"She's missing some parts!" Zeller suddenly yelled, catching Will's attention.

He walked back toward the body, seeing Price and Zeller gesture to her feet. Will walked around the body once again. He had been so distracted by the skin, he didn't bother looking at the rest of her back when he was there. But her toes were missing as were her fingertips. Will knelt behind the body as Beverly, Price, and Zeller talked, though he didn't hear what they were saying.

"She's missing a kidney too." Will blurted suddenly.

Beverly knelt next to him, invading his space but for some reason, he didn't mind as much. Normally, he hated it when someone invaded his space. But Beverly had an air about her that made it easier for her to tolerate. She was always blunt and honest and spoke what was on her mind, something Will secretly envied. He tried to speak what was on his mind, but it never quite came out the way he meant it. His thoughts were hard to decipher when it was time for them to leave his mouth, making people often misunderstand what he was saying. The only time that didn't seem to happen was the day before when he was talking to Dr. Lecter. Will put aside the thoughts of Hannibal Lecter and refocused on the murder in front of him.

"Odd trophies to take," Jack commented.

"They weren't taken." Will stood again, looking at the buildings. Sometimes his subconscious mind caught things before his conscious mind. He realized the connections it had made, connections he was just now catching onto. He had been right, the placement was deliberate.

He jogged forward, ignoring Jack as he called after him. The library was the easiest to enter, so he went there first. Finding the religion section in the library was more difficult than it had any right to be, giving Jack time to catch up with him. He pulled the gloves that he was carrying in his back pocket, sliding them on as he looked from book to book. There was nothing abnormal about them. Books detailing Greek mythology, Roman mythology, Egyptian, Celtic, and every other kind imaginable. Eventually, he found the books on Christianity, thinking that was where the killer left his prizes. He expected it to be in a Bible, what he found was a book detailing Christianity in the Renaissance. The book was thicker than its spine would have indicated and there was an obvious separation in the pages. Will pulled the book free slowly, making certain that nothing fell free. At this point, Zeller had caught up to them, presumably having left Price and Beverly in the alley. Will placed the book on top of the case and opened it slowly. 

He was right. 

The book opened to a page detailing the change in the depiction of angels. Will felt déjà vu having just spoken about the depiction of angels at the crime scene the day before. Toes sat perfectly lodged in the book, marking it. 

"My guess," Will said to the silence around him. "You'll find her fingers in the church, likely in a Bible in a passage talking about angels."

He stepped back, letting Zeller move in to take pictures. Jack called to the rest of the forensics team outside, telling half to stay with the body and the other to search the church. Will had just made it outside when the call from the church came. He was right again, they found her fingers in the Bible, wedged in a page detailing the depiction of angels. He pulled his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What's his message, Will? What's this killer trying to tell us?"

Will sighed and pushed his glasses back on, watching his breath in the air in front of him. "As much as this may seem like a religious killing, it's not. The killer," He sighed, looking back at the body as they began to dismantle what was left for them. "He's giving social commentary. Or rather, commentary on another killer." Jack stared, saying nothing. "The depiction of angels has changed throughout history. Classic depictions of angels don't have wings or genitalia. They weren't humanoid. It took Renaissance depictions of angels to make them more human and now the Angel Maker is reversing the process, turning humans into angels. He has one foot in the angelic origins and another in modern depictions." Will gestured to the church and library as he spoke. "Her killer," He gestured to the body. "Is alluding to that. Showing the brutality of angels as well as the beauty."

Jack sighed, looking back toward the body, now resting on a gurney. "So, how do we catch him?"

"You know as well as I do that killers like this are hard to catch. He's a sadist, an intelligent psychopath. The kill isn't the point here, Jack, it's the art. He may never kill like this again." 

Jack sighed again, and Will could see the moment he retracted into his own mind. Will left, hoping to avoid any other conversation.

He and Jack had driven to Ohio together, the rest of the team following in the car behind them. Will had fallen asleep listening to the trio behind them yell some song out the windows as they drove somewhere around 60 mph. They had just returned to Quantico when the next call came about the body in Baltimore. Will insisted on driving himself the second time, not wanting to be trapped in the car with Jack's strong presence anymore. He had no problems with Jack, besides a minor disagreement once that didn't amount to anything. But Jack always had a strong presence that always pushed on the edge of Will's mind when they were together, pounding on the doors to be let in. It was that way for a lot of people. They were always knocking, begging to be let in and to make their home in Will's mind. Some were subtle, like Alana Bloom who hovered, waiting patiently. Some were demanding like Beverly, though they didn't mean to be. Different killers had different styles too. The Angel Maker hung on the outskirts, not wanting to be seen but still present. He had given a lecture on the Chesapeake Ripper the week before, and the Ripper was even more elusive. He hung just outside of Will's mind, dying to be seen but hiding behind walls. The only other person who didn't knock at Will's mind was Dr. Lecter. He sat just outside, waiting for Will to open the door and throw out pieces for him to see. 

It was odd not to have someone demanding entry, odd to have someone interpret his thoughts as they were meant to be, not as they were construed in the minds of others. He debated for a moment driving to Dr. Lecter's office to speak with him about the other killer. But he thought better of it. Instead, he began the drive to Wolf Trap. He had rescued another dog earlier in the week, a dog he named Winston, and leaving a new dog alone with the rest of the pack for too long could cause problems. His dogs were all well behaved, but leaving them alone for too long still wasn't a good idea. The sun began to set behind him, giving the world an orange glow as he drove. The glow transferred over his thoughts, bathing everything in orange as he watched the woman tear from her bindings and take flight in front of his eyes, ascending into the sky and consumed by the sunset. 

Will came back to himself as he drove up the road to his house. It was a rather nice house, with white paneling and blue around the windows. It was two stories though Will never really used the top floor except to shower and hold his clothes. The space was more for the dogs than it was for him. The house came with plenty of land to let his six dogs run around. There was a stream nearby for him to fish, which he did often when the world seemed to be too much. He could hear the dogs inside as he turned off the engine, the pack having heard his car approach. He could hear the thumping of tails as he approached the door. They crowded it, noses pressed against the door until he tsked. They stepped back enough for him to open the door and then they charged into the yard. They barked, running and jumping over each other in the cool night. They barked, echoing into the night. Will stepped inside for a moment, turning on the lights before he followed the dogs as they explored. The sun had set by this point, marking the end of an incredibly long day. The dogs leaped through bushes and around him as he turned, looking at the house in the night. During certain times of the year, fog would hover over the grass, giving the illusion of water at night. His house, with only the lights on and nothing else, looked like a boat resting over calm waters. It was a peaceful sight, calming the turmoil with himself.

* * *

_Will watched angels soar above him, circling and circling as if they were vultures circling a carcass. Their wings stretched outward, blocking the light from the moon. The light that did make it through came down in a single beam on the object of the angels' attention. Their faces changed, sometimes human, sometimes animal. Each face was different. One was a lion, one was a dear, one was a raven. Will's eyes trailed downward, from the beings circling above to what they were circling._

_It was Will himself._

_He could see his own body as though he were floating outside it. The skin of his back was pulled upward and modified to look like wings. His face was split in half, the left half looking closed and refined and the other half looking manic and evil. His left eye was downcast, framed by his glasses. The right eye, however, was bright and alive with darkness brimming under the surface. His curls hung over the right side of his face and his mouth was twisted in a devious smile. As he watched, the two halves split down the middle, one looking downward and the other looking up at the angels circling above, laughing at the angels above. There was a snort and Will tore his eyes from his body, seeing antlers behind him._

_The creature stepped into the moonlight and Will could see it clearly._

_It was a black stag that could blend into the darkness. Its body was covered in feathers that shimmered in the light of the moon. The stag exhaled again before stepping forward gracefully, approaching the right half of Will's body, its nose nuzzling his face. The angels descended, screams echoing through the air as they dropped. Their wings opened, gracing his face and body, making him suddenly feeling as though he was suffocating._

* * *

He woke with a start, shifting wildly in his bed. His shirt was stuck to his body by sweat and his chest was heaving in the night. He could almost swear he could see the stag staring at him from his porch. He shook himself, blinking into the night. His dogs shifted, some looking up at him before pillowing their heads on their paws once again. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, placing his hands on either side of himself for balance. It took a minute for him to slow his heart rate and breathing before he pealed his shirt from his body. He dropped it in his laundry basket before moving to his kitchen sink, slashing some water on his face to cool himself down. 

He stood for a moment, coming back to himself before he went back to bed, laying a towel down to sleep on rather than his damp sheets. He drifted to sleep without any more dreams. 

The next morning, he was woken by a call from Jack. He blinked at his phone on the nightstand next to his bed before he finally registered the sound he was hearing came from it. He pulled the phone from the charger and answered with a sleepy 'hello.' Jack, however, did not sound as asleep. 

"We have positive IDs on both the Angel Maker and the other victim," Jack said curtly.

Will sighed. "I'll be in soon. 'bout an hour."

Jack hung up without so much as a goodbye. Will blinked at the phone once more before heaving a sigh and standing from his bed. He opened the door so the dogs could run amuck in the yard before he went upstairs for a shower. The water washed away the grime of sweat from his skin and woke him from the sleep that still clung to his mind. He dressed, hearing the dogs play outside, barking happily. He walked downstairs once more, first putting on a pot of coffee and then beginning to make the food for his dogs. He never bought dog food, it was one of the things he insisted on doing himself. He made it from scratch and the dogs always seemed to enjoy it. They danced around him happily, tails thumping as he dished out the food into their individual bowls. The moment he stood from the last bowl, they moved forward greedily and he could hear their chomping. He returned to the kitchen with a smile on his face. They would be done by the time he cleaned and poured his coffee. 

Will was at Quantico an hour later. Jack waved him into his office where another was already waiting.

"This is Emma Budish, wife of Elliot Budish." _The Angel Maker._ Will thought as he shook her hand. 

Will's mind went elsewhere as Emma described her husband. He would ask a question sometimes, but it wasn't a conscious effort. It was as though his brain was split between his thoughts and the conversation he was a part of. He watched as Jack seemed to recede into himself during the conversation, realization dawning behind his eyes but Will knew it wasn't about the topic. Afterward, Jack sent him to the lab to talk with Beverly about the identity of the fourth victim. He sipped his coffee as Beverly told him the victim's identity. Her name was Valerie Ormand a nurse at Johns Hopkins. Will had been right the day before as Zeller and Price described the various animals who's eyes, feathers, and antlers contributed to the art in the alley. He felt like a ping pong ball as Jack suddenly dragged him along behind him, driving to the farm that Emma had described. 

He was uncharacteristically reserved and quiet.

Will looked up at the body of Budish hanging in the rafters. They hadn't caught this one, but it was one of the view killers where he didn't feel anything benign behind them. Jack walked back toward the car while Will stayed, examining the body in the air. Tumors were complicated things but brain tumors were even worse. Budish's first two victims were a couple accused of serial rape and murder. His second victim was a former convict. Valerie Ormand didn't fit the profile and Budish's body was too far away for him to have time to go between Ohio and Maryland before the farm he would ultimately take his life at. 

No, Ormand had a different killer. And it was that killer that was nagging at Will's mind. There was something almost familiar about them, but the connections alluded him. Every time he reached, they slipped away. 

Will's body operated on its own as he returned to the car. Locals would take care of Budish's body and he would be returned to his wife to be buried once the case was officially closed. Jack faded away the moment they returned to Quantico, but Will found himself needing to talk to someone about the other killer.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, shifting through his contacts until he found the office phone for one Dr. Hannibal Lecter. It was almost noon as the drive to the farm wasn't that far. Will walked to his car and waited for another minute until the clock hit 12 before he dialed.

An automated voice answered the call, first telling him if it was an emergency to call 911 then telling him to hold and the doctor would answer. He didn't have to wait long before another voice answered the phone.

"Dr. Lecter, it's Will Graham."

"Hello, Will," The other's voice changed from professional to more relaxed. "What can I do for you?" Will sighed, thinking for a second. "Is it a case?"

"Yes," Will answered, relieved he didn't have to state why he was calling.

"Have you eaten?" The other asked. "I have another patient next but I assume you are calling from Quantico." Will hummed. "By the time you arrive it will officially be my lunch hour and I have extra. We could discuss the case over a meal."

"Thank you, Dr. Lecter. I would appreciate that."

"See you soon, Will."

The call ended and Will couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips as he started his engine, beginning the drive to Baltimore.


	4. Food for Thought

At exactly 1 o'clock, there was a knock on his office door. He knew who it was as he walked from the small kitchenette behind his office. The sun shown in the windows, illuminating the room. Will had been in his office before, but he felt the needed to check his surroundings, making certain they were perfect before he let the other enter. He set down the two plates he was holding on his desk, clearing away the paper, and then moving to the door. Will was exactly as Hannibal remembered him. His hair was just the same combination of tamed and wild that he remembered, his clothes were the same style, and his eyes held the promise of something much more dangerous under the surface. He turned as Hannibal opened the door, his face shifting slightly to appear friendlier.

"Good afternoon, Will." He stepped aside. "Please, come in."

Will offered a half-hearted smile before he stepped past him and into the office. As he went by, Hannibal caught the scent of a rather atrocious aftershave, but under it something much more enticing. Will's eyes jumped over the office as Hannibal walked around him, grabbing the chair from his personal desk and setting it on the other side of his work desk. Will removed his jacket, placing it on the couch before he heard the soft click of plastic as his glasses were folded and placed into one of the jacket pockets. He walked over to the chair Hannibal gestured to and sat. His eyes were cloudy as though his mind was miles away.

"Would you like some wine to accompany your lunch?"

"You keep wine in your office?" Will asked, returning to himself, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. 

"It's for unique occasions."

Will smiled fully, accepting the glass Hannibal gave him. "Smells delicious." He said.

"Sautéed lamb kidney. I am very particular about what I put into my body. As a result, everything is homemade." Hannibal said as he sat in his chair across from Will. The kidney did belong to a lamb, but not the animal. 

He watched as Will picked up his fork and took a bite. He hummed and Hannibal smiled in satisfaction before taking a bite of his own meal. He knew at some point Will would return, he had left a body to ensure as much. He could assume that his present was the reason the other had found himself at Hannibal's door so soon. They each took a couple more bites before Will's eyes betrayed him again, his mind back with the body Hannibal had left.

"The case you're working on," Hannibal began, prodding at the other. 

Will shook himself and nodded, finishing the bite he was working on. "We found the Angel Maker. Elliot Budish. Killed himself in the farm he had a near-death experience in as a child."

"You didn't come all this way to talk about a killer's suicide."

Will's lips twitched. "No. I didn't." He was quiet for a moment, taking a bite to give his mouth something to do while he thought of the right words. "There was a fourth body. It was placed exactly like the Angel Maker's victims but it was," He paused, thoughts flying behind his eyes. "More." Hannibal stayed quiet, knowing Will would continue. "The Angel Maker only skinned his victims, pulling up the skin of their backs to mimic wings but the fourth body was much more intricate." He took another bite. Hannibal continued eating, waiting for Will to continue. "The skin was cut and reshaped to look like wings, the body was deliberately posed, she had extra eyes decorating her face, and her fingers and toes were missing. We found her toes in the library next to where she was placed in a book detailing Renaissance depictions of Biblical subject matter, and her fingers were found in a Bible in a church on the other side. A page about angels. There were feathers woven into her hair, raven's feathers. And there were deer antlers balanced on her head. Everything was deliberate, meticulous." Will's eyes were staring at something far away as if he were still seeing the body in front of him as he described the scene to Hannibal. Fortunately, Hannibal knew the scene all too well.

"It seems as though her killer was depicting the differences in angelic representation," Hannibal said.

Will hummed. "That's what I thought too. It was as though he was talking to the Angel Maker, exposing his mixed view of angels. The Angel Maker's depictions were a combination of both worlds, crashing together. The Angel Maker even castrated himself at one of the scenes. Before he killed himself that is."

"It seems you have it figured out, why come to me?"

Will's eyes grew more distant. "There was something about it. Something that felt so..." His voice trailed off as his thoughts seemed to mix and jumble behind his eyes. It was fascinating to watch as each new thought made his face change. "Familiar." He said finally, his voice no louder than a whisper. He would give anything to hear that breathless whisper again.

"The deed or the killer?" 

"Both." Will shook his head, coming back to himself and taking another bite. "The killer took her kidney too." Hannibal enjoyed the irony in front of him. "But something about how the body was placed, the time the killer took to complete his work, the way he left the message." Will's voice was filled with an emotion Hannibal couldn't quite place, but if he didn't know any better he would think it was awe. "It was art." Will blinked before he looked over at him and then looked away. 

"There is often beauty in death," Hannibal said, keeping his voice measured. "And it appears this killer wanted to accentuate it. To expose it."

A grateful look crossed Will's face before he nodded. "It didn't just feel like he was talking to the Angel Maker." He knew Will worried about the way others saw his thoughts, but Hannibal could follow them perfectly. It helped that the thoughts Will was following were his.

"Who else was he talking to? Who was his art for?" 

_You._

He saw the answer cross Will's face before he shoved it down, with everything else he kept locked away. He let out a sigh and shook his head. "I don't know." But Will knew. And he knew Will knew. But Will was missing a piece to the puzzle, that piece being him. Hannibal was faced with a couple of options as he looked at the other sitting before him. He could pull Will's darkness from him by its teeth, force it into the light so he and everyone else could see what lies beneath. Or...

Hannibal smirked as Will's head dipped, finishing the last of his meal. Hannibal followed suit, all the while watching every minute change that came across Will. When they were both finished, he stood, grabbing for Will's plate.

"Thank you," The other said quietly.

As Hannibal moved to the kitchenette, he heard Will shuffling around in the office. A quick glance told him that Will had put the chair back where it belonged before he began exploring. Will had been through his office before, but each time he seemed to find something new, his fingers dancing over everything as though the sensations were foreign to him. Hannibal cleaned his dishes and placed them back in the small cabinet he kept before he emerged from the kitchen, watching Will pick up the scalpel on his desk, turn it in his hands, and then set it down exactly where Hannibal had left it. Will's movements were graceful, careful, every movement was calculated whether or not he knew it.

"The scalpel gives pencils a finer edge," Hannibal said as he walked into the room, making his presence known once again. "Makes for cleaner lines and easier to use when drawing something precise and delicate."

"You were a surgeon before," Will said. It wasn't a question. 

"I was," He confirmed, stepping to the desk. Will's attention was on the scalpel, his fingers tapping the table. He wanted to say something but was working up the nerve to say it. Or perhaps he thought it might be considered rude to ask. Hannibal couldn't help but think that endearing.

"Why did you stop being a surgeon?" Will asked finally, his voice quiet.

"I killed someone," Hannibal dropped his voice. "Or more accurately, I couldn't save someone but it felt like killing them."

He could feel Will's eyes on him. "You were an emergency room surgeon, it had to happen." He was trying to be comforting, only Hannibal didn't need comfort when it came to this. But again, it was an endearing thought.

"It happened one time too many," He rolled his shoulders and raised his eyes, meeting the other's. "So, I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts. I fix minds instead of bodies. And no one's died as a result of my therapy." He offered a conspiratorial smile and Will answered with a breathy laugh, his lips forming a half-smile. This time it reached his eyes. His fingers brushed the scalpel once more before he pulled his hand away.

Will continued walking around the office until he found his way to the drawings Hannibal left on another table. There was no end to the spaces for him to draw, art having been one of his lifelong passions. He heard the papers shuffling as he turned to watch the other, to evaluate him without the other watching him. He was always curled into himself, protecting something within, keeping it hidden. Will picked up one of the pictures, looking at it with unfettered curiosity. The drawing was off his boarding school in Paris. Sometimes he would challenge himself, see if he could draw things from his youth and memory. The boarding school was the latest example.

"It's beautiful," Will said quietly, his voice miles away.

"Are you an appreciator of the arts, Will?"

Will let out a cynical laugh. "No," He set the paper down, once again making certain it was where Hannibal had left it.

"And yet you can note beauty and art where most wouldn't." Will didn't answer. "This other killer, he was talking to the Angel Maker and someone else. What was he saying to this other person?"

Will turned finally, leaning against the table behind him with his hands placed firmly on either side of him for balance. He looked at the floor as though it might have the answer to Hannibal's question. But this was something Will already knew the answer to as well. He waited patiently, watching the debate that crossed his eyes but never his face. Much like Hannibal, he was very careful about what he showed the world. Hannibal wondered if he knew how expressive his eyes were. 

"He was showing the beauty in the darkness," Will whispered.

How easily Will had climbed into his mind, as though he belonged there. Will Graham hadn't left his mind since they met. He was running around, causing havoc quite happily in Hannibal's mind. It was a favor he was all too happy to repay. He remembered the woman he had left for Will to find. Valerie was a nurse when he had worked at Johns Hopkins. Outwardly, she appeared sweet and kind but Hannibal knew better. There had been complaints by patients that she was unkind, even rude, to them. Hannibal would have killed her sooner, but then one Miriam Lass came snooping around, and he knew the FBI was on his trail. Miriam's disappearance seemed to put an end to the investigation into him and to his outward persona, the Chesapeake Ripper, but he had purposely avoided making waves for two years. All his kills were disposed of without the fanfare that he had used previously. Yet all it took was one FBI consultant with brilliant eyes and a vivid imagination and he was willing to risk everything to make him see.

What exactly he wanted Will to see, he wasn't certain and that worried him. He never did anything without a purpose, without knowing exactly what would happen and why he put that into motion. Even some of the risks he took, the patients he had antagonized and manipulated before putting them out into the world once again, he had done for a reason. He wanted to see what would happen. Some reactions had been spectacular, including that of his own psychiatrist, Bedelia Du Maurier. She had been capable of killing when she was pushed in the right direction. One wayward patient with a grudge and he had found Bedelia with blood on her hands, literally. Even when she cleaned it off, even when he helped her clean it off, the blood was still there, staining her perfect nails for eternity. Hannibal was the only patient she continued to see after all this time. But Will. He supposed there were many reasons why he had left that body for him. Many things he wanted the other to see. He wanted him to see the darkness within himself. He wanted him to see what would happen when he tipped over one domino, watching the rest that fell. But he also wanted Will to see him. 

What a thing, to be seen. To be known. To be understood for both the light and the dark within. Will didn't think he could be understood because of his darkness.

"What would be the killer's purpose in exposing the beauty in darkness?"

Will stared at the floor still, his eyes glazed over. "Maybe he's trying to bring the darkness out in someone else. Maybe by showing them that darkness can be beautiful, he hopes they'll accept their darkness too." His voice was far away.

How easily he had climbed into Hannibal's mind. How easily he understood him. How completely. And yet he still hesitated to understand himself.

"Who is the mystery other to the killer?"

"An acquaintance, friend, lover." He shrugged. "Could be anyone." Then he furrowed his brow. "No. Not anyone. Someone the killer wants to be closer to."

Will ran his hands over his face, sighing into them. Then he dropped them once more, his eyes flicking to Hannibal's, offering emotions he couldn't quite express. For someone who loathed eye contact, and psychiatrists, he certainly kept returning to Hannibal frequently.

A knock at the door drew their attention as Hannibal looked down at his watch while Will looked at his own.

"I'm sorry," Will muttered. "I didn't realize how long I was here." He moved across the room and grabbed his jacket. "I didn't mean to keep you."

"Nonsense, Will. I invited you and you needed to talk. My office is always open to those who need it. Especially friends."

"Friends?" Will asked, his eyes jumping to Hannibal, a playful light within. "Aren't I patient?"

"Not officially," Hannibal answered. "You do not employ me and there is no set appointment time." Will smiled but didn't say anything more as he pulled his jacket on.

"Just having conversations?" Will asked, but it was rhetorical.

Hannibal walked him to the patient exit and Will made to leave before turning and facing him once again.

"Thank you for lunch, Dr. Lecter. And your time."

"You are always welcome, Will."

The other smiled again and left. Hannibal closed the door, satisfaction humming in his gut.


	5. Puppets

Jack spent the rest of his day with his mind ruminating over the realization he had made. What exactly Emma Budish said that made the pieces fall into place, he wasn't certain. But the way she spoke, what she said about her husband's withdraw, it sounded so much like his Bella that everything just clicked. He returned to his office, debating about calling her office to see where she was, but instead thought better of it. This wasn't a discussion either of them should have out and about. It should happen at home. He had paperwork he needed to complete, but he couldn't force himself to do it. His mind wasn't with the case they just wrapped up, it wasn't with the body in the alley that Will was convinced was the victim of another killer, it wasn't with the paperwork on his desk. It was with Elliot Budish. It was with his Bella. 

Cancer. Goddamned cancer. A few wayward cells and the body couldn't help but attack it. Cancer was always a fight, no matter what kind. Some fights could be won, the cancer could be beaten back. Elliot Budish chose one way to fight his cancer. He hadn't let it take him. The control was always in his hands. It was his choice when and where he died, not when cancer said so. Bella had been fighting her fight against cancer alone. Not that he would be much help. The fight was always one person's, but he could cheer her on. He could be there to support her and to hold her hand and to comfort her when she needed it. 

Subconsciously, he raised his hand to his left shoulder, rubbing the words that had been there for years. He and Bella had met in Italy when he was in the Army. He had fallen head over heels for her the first moment he saw her. Everyone called her 'Bella, Bella, Bella.' He learned that Bella meant beautiful in Italian, but for some reason beautiful was never enough to describe her. She was ethereal, majestic. She was an angel wrapped in a human body. Every day, he called her Bella, reminding her of her beauty, how he saw her. And he would see her that way even after she died. He never truly understood why the specific words appeared on his shoulder. For Bella, the word had been just that, Bella, burned onto her left shoulder. But for him, it was the phrase, 'I need you to accept that.' Maybe it was the universe's way of foreshadowing what was to come. He had always had a deep, commanding voice and a demanding presence. He had honed it over the years. But Bella was never one to back down. It didn't matter how much of a command was in his voice, she always held her ground. It was one of many things he loved about her. And just as before, this was something he was going to have to accept. He couldn't fight her battles for her and he couldn't command it away.

He didn't know how long he sat in his office, staring into the distance before he finally decided he couldn't be productive. He stood from his desk, leaving the paperwork for him to finish tomorrow. 

The drive back to his house was agonizing. He couldn't get there fast enough and at the same time, he was dreading arriving. What should he say? What could he possibly do to comfort her? Did she even want his comfort or need it? 

He sat in his car for longer than he should have. Bella wasn't home yet, but for some reason, he didn't want to walk inside. Inside meant the place he had built with her, the home they had forged together. Inside meant their lives together. Inside meant the bed they had shared for years and the mornings waking up at her side. Inside meant a view that would stay the same no matter what happened. Inside meant there would be a day he woke up and Bella wasn't there. 

He finally forced himself from the car, but he couldn't force himself inside the door. Instead, he dropped on the front stoop, sitting with his knees bent and his arms draped over them. He saw but didn't fully comprehend the sun begin to dip in the sky. He didn't see the blues, oranges, and yellows of the world around him. He didn't see the green of his lawn become darker as to mirror the sky's darkening. He didn't hear the crickets as they began to chirp while the sun touched the horizon. He didn't hear the neighborhood dogs as they began chattering excitedly. He didn't hear or see anything other than the unforgiving stone of the front walkway, and the shadows that danced while the light overhead changed. He saw the beautiful pecan color of her eyes, the brilliance of her smile. He felt the way his heart skipped a beat all those years ago as she walked confidently down the aisle. He felt the warmth of her touch and saw the love in her eyes even when they fought. He saw her, Bella. His Bella.

Eventually, Bella's car pulled into the driveway next to his. His mind returned to reality and he remembered why he was still on their front step. Bella took one look at him and she knew too.

"We should talk inside," She said quietly, walking past him. He stood and brushed himself off before following her.

* * *

Will woke up to a set of strange circumstances the next day. Whatever happened the night before must have set something into motion, but he wasn't certain what spark lit the fire.

The evening had been relatively normal for him. He had left Hannibal's office and drove home. He would have to submit a report about Budish and the Angel Maker murders, but that could wait until the following day. Budish wouldn't be killing anymore, he had completed his murders with his death. He had felt calmer after leaving the office, his mind finally on the right track about the fourth body, the angel not made by the Angel Maker. When he arrived home, he let his dogs out and they ran amuck in the yard. He smiled, watching them bounce and jump and run over each other. Together, he and his pack went on a walk and they barked and yipped, telling him about their time apart. They walked to the stream near his house and the dogs splashed in the water happily. He would have to clean them up as they would be muddy by the time they returned home, but that wasn't a difficult task. His dinner wasn't anything special, especially not after lunch at Hannibal's office. Of course, the man could cook. He had the demeanor of someone who was always in control of their environment and cooking was just another way to be in absolute control. After dinner, he worked on the engine for his boat and had two fingers of whiskey. Eventually, he hauled himself into his bed and fell asleep. The stag was in his dream as it had been the last two nights, lurking in the corner but never malevolent. 

Then his phone went off and the day started all over again. What had happened in the rest of the world was a mystery to him.

The first call he received was about a murder, a man left in a bathtub with his abdomen torn open. The second call came about five minutes later as Will was letting his dogs out. This was about the murder of a nurse by a man who supposed himself the Chesapeake Ripper. These murders weren't very considerate when it came to timing. But timing be damned. The Ripper was suddenly the man of the hour. 

At first glance, both murders looked exactly like Ripper kills.

He went to the bathtub murder first as it was the closest. The rest of the team had beaten him and Jack both to the crime scene and they were cataloging the trail of blood that led to the bathroom. That was his first indicator that this wasn't a Ripper kill. The mess. Beverly, Price, and Zeller explained the scene as they saw it with Price and Zeller alternating during their sentences. The way they described it, the Ripper was going after a surgical trophy as he did with his other kills but was interrupted. But that was Will's second indicator that this wasn't a Ripper kill. The Ripper was always in control, always knew exactly what he was doing and why he had done it. Being interrupted was not something the Ripper dealt with and it was unlikely whoever interrupted him would live to tell the tale. By the time he saw the body in the bathtub, he was convinced this wasn't the Ripper. There was no posing of the body, no finesse, no art to the death. It was just death. Beverly had told him there appeared to be damage to the heart, but the Ripper wouldn't have left an organ damaged. Everything was useful, be it the leftover body to create his art with or the organs he took with him. Everything was intact when it came to the Ripper.

Will could see the struggle on the back of his eyelids, evident by scuff marks and the trail of blood. He could see the panic in the victim's eyes, feel the fear as it rushed through his veins. But there was evidence of fear that didn't belong to the victim. A panic that belonged to the killer. The killer who hadn't meant to become one. The victim ripped open his own stitches, stitches that weren't meant to be there, to begin with. Panic. There was no control to this death, it was completely unexpected, unplanned. If the victim hadn't panicked, hadn't ripped open his own abdomen, maybe he could have lived. And the killer, afraid of the consequences barreling toward him, reacted the only way they could. Internal cardiac massage. The damage to the heart. This was not the Chesapeake Ripper. But if it wasn't the Ripper, who was it?

The second body screamed Ripper but in all the wrong ways. He had always hated psychiatric facilities. There was just enough about him that everyone in Virginia and Maryland had a room reserved just for him. The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane was no different. It was a looming structure with the outward facade of a library with a sky blue dome on top. Inside, however, it was cramped and loud, though not audibly. Ever shadow teamed with secrets and every corner held another pair of eyes, watching. At some point, he felt he was doomed to enter a place like this and here he was. Thankfully, it wasn't because he was the patient. He knew it would be worse to be one, to have someone fumbling around in his mind, mixing thoughts and feelings to better serve the outcome they wanted rather than the reality within himself. The one doing the fumbling was a man named Dr. Frederick Chilton. Chilton had the air of someone who always thought they were the smartest in the room and the outward smugness of a man who always thought he was right. He walked with the confidence of someone who had notoriety, but Frederick Chilton had no claim to fame. He thought he did, however. His current claim was that he had the Chesapeake Ripper in his grasp. And what a claim to fame that would be. 

The man in question, Abel Gideon, had killed his wife and her family during Thanksgiving dinner two years earlier. The timing fit almost perfectly. Gideon was remanded to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and the Ripper had gone silent around the same time. The murder of Gideon's family was a passionate, impulsive murder. Their bodies were brutalized in a way that was similar to the Ripper. As was the nurse Gideon murdered. Will could see himself in Gideon's mind, the fork tine in his hand, the way he stalked the nurse as she fell, the crushing of her eyes, the instruments used as they pierced her body. He opened his eyes, but his mind still worked.

He found himself in a room with three glass cages, one in each corner and himself in the forth. There was one fluorescent light in the center, which barely illuminated the room, leaving shadows around the other cages. In the cage on his right was a faceless killer who reeked of panic. In the cage on his left was Abel Gideon, calm and his eyes knowing. Finally, directly across the room was the Ripper, his face invisible. The Ripper raised his hands, revealing each finger tied to a string and at the other end, puppets. The Ripper's fingers moved and the puppets began to dance. In each of their cages, Gideon and the faceless, panicked killer began to dance, their arms, legs, and heads tied to string controlled by invisible hands. 

"Will," Jack's voice brought him back, the killers and their cages fading away. He stood shaking his head and ran his hands over his face. He pulled his glasses from his jacket pocket and turned toward the other man who had reentered the room. Jack wasn't as outwardly confident as he was most days, in fact, he was quite reserved. It worried him but he didn't want to press. Jack would talk when he was ready. But at the moment, he wanted Will to talk. "How many killers?"

"Three," Will answered, seeing them running in circles in his mind. 

"How many are the Chesapeake Ripper?"

"One."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

"Explain it to me."

Will sighed but obliged. "The first killer, the one who left the man in the bathtub, never meant to be a killer. The victim woke up, found stitches in his side, panicked, and tore them open. The killer tried to help him, tried to make the victim calm down but he didn't and his heart gave out. The killer tried to keep him alive but failed." Jack nodded in understanding. "And this kill," He gestured around him, "This was impulsive. There was no preemptive planning, no brutal elegance. The Ripper has never once repeated a kill. Every time is new and more dramatic. Repeating his last kill after two years is," He thought for a second, trying to find the right words, "Unlike him. The cause of death in the Ripper's kills is the mutilation. This was mutilation for the sake of mutilation."

"So, the Ripper's still out there."

Will nodded. "And it's only a matter of time until he makes himself known again. These two murders," He sighed, "He won't like someone else claiming to be him."

"Not just one someone."

Will shook his head. "The bathtub killer wasn't claiming to be the Ripper. I don't think they even had the Ripper in mind. It wasn't meant to be a murder, Jack."

"Three killers, three different styles, and two bodies." Jack sighed.

"If only killers could be considerate."

Jack offered a half-hearted smile. Will grabbed the file from where he had dropped it before reconstructing Gideon's murder in his mind. It was then that Frederick Chilton appeared. Normally, Will would do all in his power to avoid a conversation with Chilton, but at the moment he needed something. There was one more piece missing between the Ripper's last kill and Gideon's most recent kill.

"Do you have an old medical text?"

Will had seen the picture very briefly in what felt like another lifetime. He had debated for a moment going into the medical field, his father's condition propelling him in that direction. He had looked at an old medical textbook, flipping through the pages to determine if it was a field he could fit in. Eventually, he thought better of it. He would feel every bit of a pain that a patient experienced as if it were his own. Catching murders already had others occupying his mind at all times, it would be worse if those who occupied it were in constant pain. He remembered when his father was nearing his end and him feeling every terrible, painful breath his father took in as though it were his own. He remembered the way his father looked at him, begging him to end the pain and the way he felt sliding in and out of that mindset. No, medicine would not have been a good field for him. But he remembered one image in an old text. He thumbed through the books in Chilton's office, trying to find it once again. It didn't take long. 

He grabbed the picture of the nurse's body with various poles and instruments sticking out of her. He laid the picture on the table and then set the book next to it. 

"Gideon was a transplant surgeon, it's likely he came across this picture too," Will said, first addressing the doubts that would be flung his way. "But look." The picture detailed several ways that a person could be injured, with various tools stuck in various places. "But his kill had so much more to it. Even more than the last Ripper kill."

"So, your conclusion is that Abel Gideon is not the Chesapeake Ripper because the mutilation went too far?" Chilton asked, his voice thick with disbelief and arrogance. 

"I'm saying Abel Gideon is not the Chesapeake Ripper because he's not artistic enough." Why did he feel the need to be defensive over the Ripper?

He and Jack left the hospital with Chilton glaring a hole in the door after them.

* * *

It was early in the morning when Freddie Lounds broke the story about the nurse's death at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. It was midday when she wrote the next story about the murder in the bathtub. Both kills she speculated could be the work of the Chesapeake Ripper or rather Rippers in her mind. The way her second article described it, the Ripper was the name of a pair of murderers. One, Abel Gideon, had been institutionalized after the impulsive murder of his wife and her family. The second, however, was never caught. Freddie theorized that the killers had somehow been in contact and the simultaneous murders of the man in the bathtub and the nurse in the hospital were coordinated to reveal the Ripper was alive and well and more than one man. After all, how could someone have time to complete the elaborate Ripper kills unless there were two of them?

It was an interesting theory, but Hannibal knew it wasn't true. He also knew that neither kill had been his as he was not in the hospital and nowhere near where the bathtub murder had taken place. Leaving a body in a bathtub wasn't poetic enough, in fact, it was rather cliché. Urban legends about organ harvesters and all. However, these bodies provided an opportunity. There were two killers out there being mistaken for him. He would have to set the record straight, if for nothing more than his own vanity. But it also provided another opportunity. That opportunity came in the form of a phone call to his office phone. Will knew it was his lunch hour, the call had been strategically planned. 

Hearing Will's voice made something inside him churn, something he long thought dead. He knew he had what could most accurately be described as an infatuation when it came to the FBI consultant. His curiosity and their shared darkness were enough to spark his interest, but watching the other's mind work the day before, the way he had so easily assumed Hannibal's mindset and the way he seemed to understand him on the deepest level was maddeningly intoxicating. It would take some careful maneuvering to keep Will close, though the other seemed to enjoy his company as much as Hannibal enjoyed his. Will asked if Hannibal had time to speak with him about the newest murders. He debated for a second asking Will to come to his house for dinner. But he knew it would be too much. He would wait, he would bide his time, and eventually, Will would find himself at his table. There were three murders and one FBI consultant after all. He would need help, especially when the bodies began piling up.

He set down the tablet with the Freddie Lounds article and inhaled slowly. It was time he had a dinner party once again. Perhaps Will would join.


	6. Angels and Rippers

_He was on his knees, facing himself. He was torn in half and could see the other half that was placed in front of him. Above him was a singular light, as though the sun was beaming down like a spotlight, with him caught in its rays. One half was again calm and composed and the other looked evil and chaotic. He looked over himself, as though he were looking in a distorted mirror. He raised his hand and the other raised with it. Everywhere his eye moved, the other's followed. Up and down his body, as though he were a piece of art to be studied and himself. The light shimmered around him as the stag stepped into view, huffing through its nose. It circled both halves of him before moving between them and lying down. His hands were tugged into the air by an invisible force, a string tied to each one and another wrapped around his neck. The strings began to pull and he began to move, dancing around the stag. The pieces of himself began moving closer and closer together, each spin and twirl beginning to right him, putting him together where he should be._

_The strings tied to him slammed his body together, making him whole. The string around his neck became a noose, pulling and pulling until his head was forced upward. An angel stared down at him as he was lowered to his knees once more. The angel's face shifted. It was the face of Valerie Ormand. It was Alana Bloom. It was Jack Crawford. It was Hannibal Lecter. The angel neared him, the face of Hannibal still watching him as he was lowered to his knees once more. The stag behind him huffed and he was pulled once more onto its back. The angel neared, hovering over him as his arms dropped to his sides. The angel neared until its feet touched the ground. It walked closer to him and the stag stood, Will still on its back. A hand reached for his hair and ran over it once._

_"It's best you wake now, dear Will," Hannibal's voice echoed around him, but it wasn't spoken from the angel's mouth. The angel moved closer, its face, Hannibal's face, just above his. "You've already been here too long."_

* * *

Will woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest and sweat dripping down his body. He blinked into the darkness, hearing but not seeing his dogs shift around him, sensing his sudden return to the waking world. He sat up in his bed, blinking. It was early in the morning, just before sunrise if his estimate was correct. He wondered if there was any point in trying to fall asleep once again. Eventually, he shook himself and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. The dogs began to shift in earnest, sensing his intentions to let them out for their morning run. He raised his hand, calming them for a moment as he shuffled around his house, grabbing appropriate clothes for the cold winter morning. His dogs were standing by the door, tails thumping when he returned and they pushed past each other eagerly to race outside. The sun began to rise in the distance, bathing everything in a yellow-white glow. The dogs ran into the cool air as he stepped out onto the porch. He tapped his pocket, making certain his phone was there just in case before he stepped off the porch, the frozen ground crunching under his feet. 

It had been two days since any bodies were found. Jack was spinning in circles about the Ripper and Freddie Lounds hadn't helped the situation at all. Will had never been a fan of Freddie. She and truth weren't bedfellows as she bent any story to fit her whims. This time it was that the Chesapeake Ripper was, in fact, the Chesapeake Rippers. Jack had his hands full with the Ripper but stating that there could be more than one was by far much worse. But Will knew better. There was only one Ripper. One was a pretender to the throne and the other never had the Ripper in mind. But the Ripper would know. Will was waiting for the body to drop, for the Ripper to prove that he was not Abel Gideon. 

Will walked around the house while the dogs played, stretching his legs before he returned inside to make their food. By the time he returned, the dogs had all lined up on the porch, patiently waiting for their food. Will had brought his coffee with him, setting it down to dish the food out. While they ate, he grabbed his coffee and sat on one of the chairs on his porch, watching the sun reach across the world as it rose in the sky. It was strangely peaceful, something he wasn't graced with often. He sipped his coffee while the dogs ate happily, their tails swaying in the air. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the coffee in his hand, the chill of the cool morning air, and the heat of the sun as it worked its way into the sky. He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually, his dogs finished their food, before spreading out over the porch, lying down around him.

His phone rang, bringing him back to reality. He sighed, already knowing what would be said on the other side of the phone.

"Graham." He greeted, shifting in his chair.

"There's a body," Jack said curtly. Will nodded to himself. "See you in an hour." 

Will didn't even have a chance to respond before the phone hung up. 

An hour later he was staring at body severed in half. It was not like his dream, where he was split perfectly down the middle. The man was severed in half at the waist. 

"He's missing a kidney and a heart," Zeller informed him. "We found him on a bus sitting across from himself."

All of Will's alarms began ringing in his head. This was the Ripper. He was certain of it. The brutality of the kill, the severing of the body, the placement. It screamed Ripper. As in the case of the bathtub victim, there were surgical trophies taken, and it was unlikely the taking of the kidney was coincidental. Zeller continued to explain what was missing from the body but Will's mind was elsewhere.

He could see all the victims of the three killers he was chasing in front of him. All of the Ripper's victims were laid out dramatically, each one posed differently, but all were missing organs. He could see Abel Gideon's victims, his wife and family as well as the nurse. All were mutilated, but none were missing organs. The kills were dramatic but as impulsive as they were brutal. And then there was the bathtub killer. The scene felt panicked and sad, regretful. And there, an organ was missing as well. It was a bloody Venn Diagram with Will at the center, looking at the differences and similarities between the three killers. Surgical trophies were odd trophies to take as there wasn't much that could be done with an organ after it left the body. Unless. His brain seemed to stutter over itself. Unless it had the in and out for blood, as Zeller noted, so they could be placed in another body.

"The past Ripper victims," He said suddenly, interrupting whatever thought Zeller was about to say. "Were they also missing the in and out for blood?"

"I don't know," Zeller answered. "But it would be a safe assumption."

Will nodded mostly to himself. 

"What are you thinking, Will?" Jack asked. 

He could feel four sets of eyes on him but he shook his head. "I need to get my thoughts straight." He left the room with the others staring after him.

* * *

Hannibal ushered Franklyn from his office, though the other continued to babble after his session was over. The other was always full of emotion with his current fixation on Hannibal. He had noted a pattern when it came to Franklyn and his association with his therapists. It was easy for someone to attempt to form a connection with their therapist as the therapist always had intimate knowledge of the patient. Sharing was hard for many people as it left them vulnerable and vulnerability was a terrible feeling. Franklyn was no different. His therapists became a point of attachment for him and as a result, he felt the need to pull them closer, to change the relationship so there wasn't an imbalance of power between the two parties. Vulnerability was always terrible but it was worse when the person one was vulnerable with had more power than them. Hannibal had been a referral for Franklyn for just this reason and he couldn't help but think that he would have to refer Franklyn once again because of this reason.

He watched as Franklyn left before shutting the door once more and returning to his office. He would have to clean between patients as he always did but there was something else that caught his attention. His office phone rang during his session with Franklyn and while he didn't answer it, he was curious who called. He doubted it was Will as Will made a point of calling on the hour when he knew it was unlikely Hannibal would be with a patient. The light on his machine blinked at him, reminding him of the message he had yet to listen to. He played it in the quiet of his office.

"Dr. Lecter," A voice drawled through the speaker. "My name is Mason Verger. I'm calling in regards to my sister, Margot. You see she is very troubled, Dr. Lecter, and is in need of a good psychiatrist to," The voice paused. "Help right all the wrongs. I only want the best for my dear sister and you see, Doctor, she is out of control. Please contact me so that we may set up a session to help her."

The man left a number to contact him. He wasn't set to take on any new clients at the moment, but his curiosity would overpower him. He wanted to know just what had happened that caused Mason Verger to call to set up an appointment for his sister. Hannibal could tell by the tone in his voice that he didn't truly care about his sister, but something happened that caused this sudden call. And he wanted to know what.

Hannibal busied himself with cleaning his office before welcoming in his next patient. The hour passed rather quickly and the patient left without as much fanfare as Franklyn. Again he cleaned the room, making certain everything was in its right place when a knock echoed. He resisted the urge to smirk as he walked to the door opening it to find Will on the other side. Will smiled at him and Hannibal stepped aside, letting him come in. 

"If this is going to be a regular occurrence, perhaps we should set up a session time for you."

Will laughed and Hannibal's pride soared. "I'm sorry to intrude." He paused for a second, his blue eyes flickering to him. "I wouldn't want you to rearrange your whole day for me."

"Nonsense," Hannibal said, closing the door. "I would put you at the end of the day."

Will's lips twitched. "It might not be a bad idea." His tongue flicked over his lips. "When is the end of the day for you?"

"My last appointment ends at 7."

Will sighed. "If only my days ended that early."

"I take it your days last as long as Jack can keep you at Quantico." Will nodded. "Perhaps a break then, during the long days." He walked over to his desk, Will watching his every move. "7:30?"

Will smiled, shifting on his feet before nodding. Hannibal turned away as he made a note for himself. Will looked around the room as he wrote before he set his notebook back in its right place.

"You didn't come all this way to set up an appointment," Hannibal said.

"No, I didn't."

"I suppose it's about these series of murders I've been hearing."

"Yes." Will sighed. "I can come back. I know it's your lunch hour and I don't want to bother you."

"Do you often see yourself as a bother, Will, even when you aren't?"

Something flashed in Will's eyes for a second but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Are we in therapy now, Dr. Lecter?" Hannibal couldn't help but note the way he said his name and title.

"An observation. I am as unable to turn off my perceptiveness as you are yours."

A look of agreement crossed the other's face as he shifted on his feet. The action was almost boyish and it endeared Will to him more. Will's eyes flitted to him again, and something else passed under them. Something akin to embarrassment and he looked away just as fast. He wondered what went on in the other's mind that would suddenly cause him to be embarrassed. Will shifted again, his hands fisting in his jacket.

"I'll come back later." He said finally. 

"Of course," Hannibal followed Will to the door, holding it open so the other could walk through.

* * *

Will chided himself as he returned to his car. He had acted no better than a schoolboy. But when he looked at Hannibal Lecter, all he could see was the angel in his dream, the angel who moved too close and who's voice had echoed all around him. He sighed as he closed the door. Dreams weren't real and he had to keep them separate. Even if it was a strange dream that involved stags made of raven feathers and angels with changing faces. 

He could feel the weight of Hannibal's amber eyes on him, as though the man was still watching him and every move he made. He could almost picture the doctor standing at the office window, the sun glinting off his dark hair with his cheekbones accentuating his eyes. He mused as he had before, about the Doctor's wardrobe as it was far nicer and dramatic than Will saw on most days. 

It was a waste of gas to drive all the way to Wolf Trap only to drive back again. Instead, he found the coffee shop he had met the other in and found a corner for himself to evaluate file after file. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any more cases today. He already had three killers running circles in his mind, causing havoc. He didn't need any more. 

By the time 7:30 rolled around he was convinced there was no real overlap between the cases. Hannibal greeted him once more swinging the door open so Will could enter. Not for the first time, he marveled at how in control Hannibal was of his environment. He permeated every corner of the room, his presence larger than life. Even when Will looked away, he would find Hannibal everywhere. The walls, the furniture, his drawings, the books, everything was Hannibal Lecter. And yet with all of that Hannibal was perfectly still and calm. A human body amid omnipotence. Neither seemed to be one for standard greetings as Will walked into the room, the case files in his hand. 

"What seems to be troubling you about these cases, Will?"

"Organ harvesters," Will said. He enjoyed catching Hannibal off guard as the other blinked at him before speaking again.

"Organ harvesters?"

"It's a strange urban legend," Will said, explaining himself. "These cases," He fumbled with the words. "There is so much overlap that to an amateur, it would look like the same person."

"And you're not an amateur." 

His lips twitched. He moved to Hannibal's desk, setting the files down and opening the bathtub murder and the most recent one from the morning.

"What do you see?"

Hannibal stood next to him, their shoulders almost touching. If it were anyone else, he might have moved away, but for some strange reason, Hannibal Lecter was the exception. The other looked over the files carefully, his eyes tracing every detail of the scenes as they were photographed. Will could see his mind working under his flitting eyes. It was almost hypnotic. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't force himself to look away. 

"On the surface, they do appear the same." The other said after a moment. "But this seems," He picked up the file of the bathtub murder. "Rushed."

Will sighed, relieved that someone else saw what he did.

"Yes. This murder wasn't meant to be a murder, at least I don't think it was." Hannibal flipped through the rest of the file while he spoke. "I think he was trying to save him."

"Damage to the heart," Hannibal noted aloud. "Internal cardiac massage?"

Will nodded. He then gestured to Abel Gideon's file. "Gideon's murder seems impulsive, it's not artistic enough for a Ripper murder. It's the product of a mind with an identity crisis." Hannibal looked at him but Will continued unabated. "But this," He gestured to the most recent murder. "This is the Ripper." His voice had dropped without him meaning to.

"You seem certain." There was no judgment in the other's voice.

"It's artistic inherently. The Ripper always had a brutal elegance to his kills. Much like this. He left the man sitting across the aisle from himself. It's," He paused. "Poetic."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment until the silence was too much for Will and he looked up, meeting the other's gaze. "You speak as though you are in their minds."

He swallowed. Something like this always happened before someone began to pity him, or began to see him as dangerous as the killers he hunted. 

"I just interpret the evidence," Will answered, forcing his gaze away from Hannibal.

"It's an amazing gift to see someone else so clearly. To understand them." Will's eyes shot back up, meeting Hannibal's gaze. There was no pity, no judgment, no fear. Just Hannibal and that cunning, thoughtful look of his. "It must become taxing."

"It does," His voice was almost a whisper.

"Have you ever taken a life? Understood the thrill they must feel at that power?"

Will swallowed thickly. "No."

"Have you wanted to?"

His answer must have been plastered across his face as Hannibal nodded knowingly. Yet again, there was no judgment or fear. He turned back to the files, closing and straightening them.

"The Ripper, a pretender, and the man who would not be king." Will wasn't certain he was meant to hear the other's assessment, but he couldn't help but agree with the poetic nature of it. "The bathtub murderer, you think he's harvesting organs."

"Yes."

"And the Ripper? What is he doing with his prizes?"

Will sighed, looking down at the files once again. "I don't know."

Hannibal's gaze was on him again. "And that's why you're here."

Will nodded with a sigh. It was infuriating not knowing. He wanted to know. And over the last few days, he found himself thinking clearer with Hannibal Lecter as his filter. The psychiatrist was meant to act as his clutch for balance, somewhere to turn to keep his headspace clear. Jack to some degree was trying to push him toward therapy as was Alana Bloom, likely, but in a much more subtle way. He hadn't seen Alana since he started working with Jack, but he did know that Hannibal had been her mentor. It was likely that she pushed Jack in Hannibal's direction, a subtle way to protect Will's headspace. Yet he felt clearer than he had in a long time. Clearer and understood.

"What could be gained by taking organs from a body? If not to sell them."

Will sighed. "Organs would spoil quickly, so I can't imagine the Ripper is keeping them around. He's incredibly detailed to the point of perfectionism in his work. Having rotting organs around doesn't seem like something he would do." Hannibal stayed quiet, letting his mind work. Unfortunately, it was working and it was leading him in a direction he would rather not go. People ate organs from animals all the time, how much different would it be for someone to eat an organ from a human? He backed away from the table as his mind continued connecting pieces.

Each step back seemed to solidify the thought in his mind, his eyes glued to the files until his back collided with the ladder behind him. He leaned against it. Why take surgical trophies to eat them? The Ripper was always careful, neat, in control.

Control.

Cannibalism as an act of dominance.

"Will?" Hannibal asked, concern filling his eyes. 

He swallowed and shook his head. "It's nothing." He said finally. "Just my mind connecting pieces that likely don't fit."

"What pieces did you connect?" Hannibal stepped closer to him and Will couldn't stop himself from sighing, his back stretching up the ladder as he did. 

"What is the pathology associated with cannibalism?"


	7. Caught

Briefly, he debated killing Will. He was fast and the other's guard was down. There was a scalpel within easy reach on the desk, he could grab it and slice the other's throat in one motion. But he didn't want to kill Will. The other was far too fascinating, and far too beautiful, to kill. His look, his mind, it was all intoxicating to Hannibal and even he couldn't fathom snuffing out something as beautiful as Will. His mind changed direction, reminding him that Will hadn't said he was the Ripper nor accused him of cannibalism. While Hannibal knew he was the Chesapeake Ripper, Will did not. The Ripper at this point was more of an abstract thought rather than a fully realized person, so Hannibal could treat his alter ego as such.

"You know the pathology of cannibalism." He couldn't stop his eyes from flicking over Will's body, noting the way he was leaning on the ladder. It was an appetizing sight. 

"Perfectionism, control, an act of dominance." Will's eyes fixed on the floor. "And then there's the question of whether or not the Ripper even sees the act as cannibalism." This caught Hannibal's attention and Will continued without prompting. "The way he places the bodies, the mutilation as the cause of death, suggests that he doesn't see his victims as equal. He's laying them out for the world to see, almost as if he's shaming them. Cannibalism requires more equality between the two parties. In some cultures, cannibalism is a way to honor those who have died by taking them into oneself so they could continue living. Then, of course, there are instances of cannibalism for survival. But neither of those fit this scenario. There's no honor here and I doubt the Ripper is fighting to survive. It's almost as if his victims are pigs. The lack of equality, the displaying of the bodies, the way they're killed in quick order." Will paused, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair, making it a little wilder. He was still staring at the floor as if he were reading the answers from it. But Hannibal could see his eyes flying. "If he is in fact eating his victims, killing three or four at a time makes it so that the meat won't spoil."

It was almost as if he had sawed open Hannibal's mind and was reading the answers directly from him. He wanted to watch more, wanted to see Will continue to dissect him as though they were one and the same. He also had the insane urge to capture those knowing lips, seeing if they knew more than they let on. Will sighed, finally looking up from the floor. His eyes jumped over the room before finally look at Hannibal. He couldn't resist his urge to take a step closer and Will's body straightened, still leaning on the ladder.

"It seems you understand this killer well."

"As well as he can be understood," Will answered.

"You don't think this killer can be completely understood?"

"Anyone can be understood," Will sounded so certain. "But this killer is notorious for revealing so little. It's why he's been so hard to catch."

"It's possible that the right person wasn't there to catch him."

Will let out a breath that could vaguely pass for a laugh. "You're saying I could catch him?"

 _You've already caught him._ Hannibal thought. "Yes." He answered aloud.

"I wish I had your confidence." Will's lips twitched.

"I just interpret the evidence," Hannibal said, offering his words back to him.

Will smiled in earnest now and Hannibal couldn't help but smile back. Will pushed off the ladder, walking around him to return to the files. The other radiated heat and the moment they were close, Hannibal could feel the heat of his body. Will focused on the files once more as Hannibal turned, watching him. He was far more relaxed around Hannibal than he had been that first day they met. He didn't bother wearing his glasses anymore around Hannibal, nothing was hiding the light in those eyes. It would take some careful manipulation to pull the darkness from Will, but he had already decided against pulling it out with more unconventional methods. 

Will only stayed for only a few more minutes before he left, a phone call dragging him away.

* * *

Will blinked as he stepped from his car. Inconsiderate murderers indeed. He could see Beverly's car, already parked. He made his way inside, dodging the locals that were at the door. It was quite the sight that waited for him on the other side. He was never one to frequent operas or symphonies, but even he expected to see something else on the stage. A spotlight was focused on a man before a sea of ghosts. His body was slumped in his head, with his head tilted back. A fingerboard of a cello was shoved in his mouth and his throat cut open, his vocal cords treated as though they could be played. Even before he approached the scene fully, he could see everything that had occurred as though it was happening right in front of him. 

He stepped up to the stage as Zeller photographed the body. Beverly examined the bow that was left in the victim's hand. 

"It will take some further analysis but it's safe to say the vocal cords were treated like catgut strings."

"You ever play, Beverly?" Will asked, walking around the body, committing the sight to memory. 

"Yes."

He pushed aside Abel Gideon, knowing the killer and motive, and the newest killer took his place. Alana had visited Gideon the day after Will had been there and Alana's assessment followed Will's perfectly. Abel Gideon was not the Chesapeake Ripper, but he thought he was. When Will, Alana, and Jack had met in Jack's office, Alana shared that she thought Chilton had planted the idea without meaning to. It made sense to Will. Chilton wanted nothing more than fame, catching the Ripper would make him among the most famous in his field. But he had rather unconventional ways of finding fame. There would be problems down the road with Gideon and likely Frederick Chilton too, but they weren't Will's main concern at the moment. Three other killers were running around one of which had just turned a man into a cello.

For a moment, Will wondered if the man was a Ripper victim, but beyond the cut open throat and the treated vocal cords, there didn't appear to be anything taken from the body, so likely not the Ripper. If Will's hypothesis was correct, there would be more Ripper kills within the next few days. But this wasn't one of them. And this wasn't the bathtub murderer, the lack of organs again the key factor. No, this was another killer. And Will was ready to explode. So many killers, as though they all suddenly decided to come out of the woodwork at once. It was annoying really. Why they all decided it was a great time to appear, he didn't know. But it was as though there was AA for serial killers and they all decided to try to overwhelm him at once. 

Beverly moved to leave the stage, giving him room to work, but he waved her off. He already knew all there was to gain from the scene. The vocal cords would be treated so they could be played and the killer was serenading someone. But who, Will didn't know. Or maybe it was commentary about the victim's ability to play. Or both. As Will took one final circle around the body, he decided it was likely both. Both motives he could understand, but what was more curious to him was who the killer was trying to serenade. Was it another killer or someone else? 

"We should look into other musicians in Baltimore, including the others in the symphony." Will knelt in front of the body while Zeller changed angles to better capture the fingerboard. "The killer was likely hoping to kill two birds with one stone." He stood. "It's as much a critique as it is an attempt to serenade."

"Who's he serenading, Will?" Jack asked, speaking for the first time. Will took his chance to study the other man. He looked tired as though the last week had aged him horribly. And it likely had. Between the Ripper, Gideon, the bathtub murderer, and now the symphony murder, there were too many killers at once. It was maddening to Will, he could only imagine what it would be like for Jack. Or rather, he didn't have to imagine, but he kept his distance. He didn't need Jack running around in his mind amidst all the killers. His mind was full enough already.

"A friend. Another killer. A significant other." Will shook his head. "It will be someone who knows how to make catgut." He nodded to Beverly who smirked appreciatively.

He stepped off the stage, nodding to Jack. He would have to find a way to try to talk to Jack, to see what was on the other man's mind. But Will already had too much tonight, and he knew this killer wouldn't put the other man in the best of moods. He would wait until the next day when he went to Quantico. There were a few things he and Jack would need to talk about, none of which were appropriate for the evening. Will made his way to his car, finally taking a breath.

Between the killers, Jack, and Hannibal, it was rare he ever had a moment alone. But he took his chance, pressing against the steering wheel and stretching his back and shoulders. He closed his eyes, but all he saw behind his eyelids was blood.

Again the Ripper appeared in front of him. The Ripper's hands moved over a block of clay, carefully sculpting it to his exact design. A body began to form under his careful hand until it was complete. The body took the form of Abel Gideon, his eyes closed. His hands were crossed over his chest. His hair was carefully tamed, his body was perfectly still. He looked almost peaceful. As Will watched, his eyes flicked open, and he sat up almost mechanically. His legs swung off the side of the table he was on, and he stood. The faceless Ripper moved into the shadows and Will could faintly hear the huff of a stag before Gideon's eyes turned to him once more. Another clay figure, this one faceless, also stood and turned toward him, stalking forward like a cat hunting its prey. The two moved around him before a melody began to fill the air, the distinct lull of a cello. 

Will returned to reality. He was still in his car, only he now found himself outside of his house in Wolf Trap, Virginia. How he had managed to drive from Baltimore to Wolf Trap he didn't know. He had somehow managed to arrive unscathed, so it was likely that he hadn't injured anyone else along the way. But he wasn't one to lose time. He stood from his car, grabbing the files from the passenger seat before moving toward his front door, running a hand over his face. With all the killers running around in his mind, there was little room left for him. He didn't know which of them had driven the car that night, but at least they drove it to the right place. The dogs barked happily from the other side of his front door and Will opened it, feeling a wave of bodies and fur pass him. They danced around him for a moment, sniffing excitedly, before running into the yard. Will pulled off his clothes, let the dogs back inside, and then crashed rather dramatically onto his bed. He was certain he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

The next morning was quiet which was surprising. He completed his usual morning routine without any interruptions before making the drive to Quantico. Jack wasn't in his office when Will arrived so instead he found himself catching up on the numerous reports he had been neglecting.

"Busy?" A voice asked. Will looked up, finding a familiar face gracing his doorway.

"Not for you," He answered with a smile.

Alana smiled in return, coming into the room. Her sky blue eyes focused on him. She was wearing a bright red dress that matched her lipstick. Will had once noted that Alana Bloom had incredibly kissable lips, but for some reason, that assessment didn't come to him this time. Alana was always incredibly beautiful and had an intelligent air around her. She was always knowledgeable, sometimes taking on his classes when he couldn't. Idly, Will noted that this was the first time he had ever been alone with her.

"What can I do for you, Dr. Bloom?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to get some coffee," She smiled, tilting her head in an attempt to meet his eyes. "Talk."

Will rolled his eyes dramatically. "Might as well torture me now."

Alana laughed as Will stood, closing the file in front of him and following her from the room. The pair walked in silence as they navigated their way through the depths of Quantico. There was a cafeteria that Will often avoided, too many people, but it had decent coffee. They prepared their respective coffees and paid before walking to one of the tables.

"How are you, Will?" Alana asked the moment they sat down.

Will shrugged noncommittally. "Plenty of murders. It's almost as if they planned it."

Alana smiled slightly, taking a sip of her coffee. But Will knew she was watching him, evaluating him from behind those keen eyes of hers. "You're not getting too close?" She asked conversationally.

Will shook his head. "I suppose I have you to thank for that." He took a drink of his own coffee. "What was it like being Hannibal Lecter's mentee?"

Alana's eyes lit up slightly. "He's quite something isn't he?" She leaned forward. "He was always in complete control when I met him. A brilliant mentor. He had a way about him that drew people to him. Still does."

"Including you?" Will asked. 

It was Alana's turn to shrug noncommittally. "He was still a surgeon when I met him. But he had suffered too many losses in his profession." Her eyes filled with emotion. "He always seemed to take each death personally, as if he didn't do all he could. He went into psychiatry my second year at Johns Hopkins."

"Why did you choose psychiatry?" Will asked, genuinely curious.

Alana paused for a second and he worried he had overstepped before she began speaking again. "Human nature is interesting. It wasn't like I had a bad family life growing up. My parents were stern and loving. But it was always interesting seeing what others did as I was growing up. I found it fascinating when I would ask them why they did the things they did. Some could never tell me but some knew. I decided that human nature was so interesting, I should study it." She took a sip of her coffee before continuing. "I got my undergrad degree in psychology with a minor in humanities. From there I went into a post-bac where I researched differences in human decision making include gender, socio-economic standing, and sexuality. My publication earned me a fellowship and I got into Johns Hopkins." She smiled shyly. But Will was riveted. He avoided people so much, he forgot that they could be fascinating. He waited for her to continue and after a moment she did. "I got my Ph.D. in psychiatry and the rest is history."

Will offered a smile. "Sounds like you were made for your field."

The two of them talked about nothing in particular before she eventually deposited him in his office once again. He began working on his reports once again before another distraction caught his attention. There was a soft knock on his door and he looked up, finding the visage of Hannibal Lecter. Genuine happiness rushed through him as he beckoned the other in.

"I thought you might need to talk. I saw there was another body."

Will nodded slightly and offered the seat across the desk to the other. "You didn't have to come all this way."

"Yes, well you have a habit of coming to me, I assumed it was only right to return the favor. One friend to another." Hannibal set down the bag he was carrying.

"And you brought food." Will's stomach growled and Hannibal's eyebrow raised. He didn't even bother with embarrassment. Hannibal set down the dish in front of him and Will inhaled. "Smells delicious." He was no better than his dogs sometimes. 

"It's always nice to find someone who appreciates talent." Hannibal sat across from him.

"Cooking is an easy talent to appreciate."

"Taste and smell are located in the oldest parts of the mind, the parts that precede pity and morality," Hannibal said before taking a bite of his meal. Will copied him and hummed in appreciation.

They were silent for a few moments as Will enjoyed the meal before him. It was essentially a stew but Will wasn't exactly cultured in the world of food. But it smelled and tasted delicious so it could have had the most outlandish name in the world and Will would have still eaten it. When they spoke, Will discussed the most recent body and Hannibal listened intently, never taking his amber eyes off Will. 

"The word serenade has a romantic connotation. Do you think perhaps the person he is serenading is someone he wants to join him?"

"It's a possibility," Will answered before taking another bite. Hannibal watched the movement, but Will said nothing about it.

Hannibal seemed to be contemplating something, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Jack.

"Will," The man came around the corner after his voice. "And Dr. Lecter. A pleasant surprise." Will straightened in his chair. "Perhaps you would like to join us, Dr. Lecter. It seems the Ripper has been busy."

Will's attention was immediately caught. The pair followed Jack through the building, meeting Beverly along the way.

"Three bodies, all dumped at once. All different organs taken. Two were posed and the third was left on the side of the road."

Will's mind flew as the four of them entered the room, meeting Price and Zeller who were gesturing to the bodies and beginning to talk long before they were all fully in the room. Will could see the bodies, the variations subtle between kills. He approached the bodies, the rest of the room fading away. Two of the bodies were precise, the incisions were done delicately with purpose and a steady hand. One was missing a spleen, kidney, and heart. The other was missing a heart, lungs, and liver. Will could see each incision as though it were the stroke of a brush and the Ripper was an artist. The third body however was imprecise and sloppy. Not the Ripper. He circled the bodies seeing the kills as they were done. Two of them were efficient and quick. The third was rushed and had the same air of panic to it that Will had seen before. Two of them were posed with their mouths open in horror and intricate patterns carved into the faces. The third victim was missing a kidney with an incision on the same side of the body as the bathtub victim. Kidneys were always a high priced item and always in need. The conversation around him had changed, Beverly showing Jack something on a computer in the lab. Price, Zeller, and Jack surrounded Beverly and the computer, but Hannibal stayed, his eyes always on Will. He circled the last victim, stopping next to him. Hannibal stepped across from him and Will finally looked up, meeting the other's eyes.

"What do you see?" His voice was low, quiet.

"The Ripper," Will answered, his voice matching Hannibal's. "And the organ harvester." He swallowed. "The patterns on them," He gestured to the other two bodies. "Are meant to tell a story. They match in a way, the intricacy of the movement, but each tells a different story. It's public shaming. They weren't worthy of their organs and the Ripper is telling us why. The first man, he must have acted in some unsightly way. And the second, was," He paused. "Rude." He returned to the body in front of him. "This was the organ harvester. Again not meant to be a kill, but he panicked and dumped the body."

"Will!" Jack called, drawing his attention away from Hannibal.

Hannibal turned reluctantly, following Will's gaze.

Ten minutes later they were in Hannibal's Bentley, following Jack as they tracked down the lead Beverly had dug up. Will spent most of the drive admiring the car itself. It likely cost more than his house. He wasn't at all surprised to hear classical music coming from the car's speakers. Hannibal was in complete control of the movements while the car hummed like a panther that he had easily tamed. 

"Are you familiar with the Baltimore Symphony?" Will asked as one piece faded and another took its place.

"Am I a suspect now, Will?" There was a hint of amusement in his voice. 

"No," He shifted slightly. "But I was wondering."

"I suspect you were right about the critique the killer was giving." Hannibal turned the car easily, keeping up with Jack's SUV. "The string section will sound better now."

Will smirked slightly as Hannibal shared a knowing look. 

They first found their way to an ambulance depot but Will found himself paying more attention to Hannibal rather than the killer they were chasing. He seemed amused and interested, leaning over to share his thoughts with Will when he could.

"This is very educational." He said quietly as if he were sharing a secret with him.

Will couldn't help but smile briefly.

The sun had set when they finally found the wayward ambulance and its accidental killer. Jack, along with an armed escort, approached first. Jack's shotgun was the length of his arm and he wielded it as though it were an extension of himself. Will stood next to Hannibal, his body tensed as though he knew something would happen before it did. He was right, of course. 

"Dr. Lecter!" Jack's voice rang out over the clearing. 

Will kept pace with Hannibal, though he was able to squeeze between the crowd before Will. The ambulance was the only light in the night. A body was covered with the standard surgical covering, keeping the face and most of the body hidden except for the place obvious incision in the sternum. Hannibal stepped into the ambulance, immediately taking control of the situation. The man, his glovers covered in blood, was timid compared to Hannibal. He backed out of the van and Jack and his escort followed him. Will stepped closer, watching Hannibal work.

Every movement he made was completely deliberate. His suit jacket was neatly folded next to him and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His hair, normally impeccable atop his head, had fallen over his face slightly. The light of the ambulance accentuated his cheekbones and the pout of his lips, which became more pronounced as he worked. His body was carefully folded so he could see his work, his amber eyes hard and focused. For a second, his eyes jumped to Will, his hands still busily working. Their eyes met and Will felt his heart jump.

Nothing about this situation should be arousing and yet there was a stir in his gut that he didn't want to evaluate. 

One of Jack's escort was able to drive the ambulance to a hospital, Hannibal having stopped the bleeding and saving the man's life. They were silent for most of the drive back to Quantico.

"I hope today's adventure didn't interfere with your patients," Will said, forcing himself to say something to break the tension that was suddenly in their air.

"No," Hannibal answered, his accented voice as calm as ever. "Today was among my shorter days."

"And you spent it getting dragged around by me." He was about to rush to say more when Hannibal spoke again.

"A day well spent then."

Will's throat clenched. They were silent for the rest of the drive. Hannibal pulled up behind his car and Will opened the door to leave before turning back to the other.

"Thank you for lunch." He avoided looking in Hannibal's eyes. "And for letting us drag you around all afternoon."

Hannibal was silent, forcing Will to look up at him. He sucked in a breath, feeling those eyes on him once again as though the other was staring straight into his soul. "It was my pleasure." He whispered. "Goodnight, Will."

"Goodnight, Dr. Lecter."


	8. Kill or Be Killed

_A cello hummed in the background, a one instrument symphony played by an unseen source. He was again under the same spotlight that had filled his dreams for several nights, but this time there were no bodies or circling angels. Instead, it was just him dressed in a suit. He hadn't been in a suit since his father's funeral, but this wasn't the standard black suit and tie. Instead, it was a light blue suit. The jacket covered a white shirt with the top button undone. The fabric wasn't the normal, constricting fabric of a suit, it was light and airy and made it easier to move. The cello continued to hum in the distance before he heard the echo of footsteps on the wooden floor. He couldn't see anything outside the spotlight until another appeared within the glow._

_Hannibal was dressed as impeccably as ever. His suit was a grey patterned suit with a blue tie. His hair was tamed as it was normally, not a strand out of place. His eyes looked nearly black with the light overhead, accentuated by his high, pronounced cheekbones. His movements were careful and calculated and he stalked closer to Will. It should have been terrifying to see the other stalk toward him in this manner, but Will didn't feel afraid. As the other neared he extended his hand and Will felt his own lifting to meet it. Hannibal pulled him closer the moment their hands touched and soon they were pressed together._

_Hannibal's hand wrapped around his waist and the other changed the positions of their hands. He opened his mouth to say he wasn't one much for dancing, but Hannibal didn't seem to care. The pair began to sway slightly and then move in earnest. He followed the other easily as the movements became more complex and they were spinning, the spotlight following them around the room. His hesitation seemed to melt and every move became easier. The sound of the cello swelled and Will was spun but when he completed his circle, Hannibal wasn't there anymore. The cello became louder and louder as Will searched around him, looking for where Hannibal had vanished to. The music continued to swell until it was almost deafening. It came to a crescendo and then stopped suddenly as Will turned once more. There was a body in front of him. Much like the symphony murder, the body had a fingerboard shoved in the mouth with the throat cut open and the vocal cords treated. Will stepped closer to the body, seeing the face clearly._

_It was Hannibal._

* * *

Will shot upward, his eyes flying open and his breathing rapid. The sun was just starting to rise, illuminating the room around him. He was covered in sweat so much that his sheets were damp. He hauled his legs over the edge of the bed, trying to slow his breathing. He clutched the mattress while the dogs blinked at him from their various beds. Reality set in once more. There hadn't been much fanfare the day following the discovery of the bathtub murderer. Will was finally able to finish all his reports including on the murder at the symphony. He was also finally able to talk to Jack. Normally, he wasn't one to seek out others, but this was Jack. The man was always like a mountain that stood tall against a raging storm. But even enough storms could wear down a mountain. And Jack had seen his fair share of storms. By the time Will arrived home that night he was incredibly glad to be alone with his dogs. As per usual, they danced around him when he arrived. He had a special treat planned for them and he prepared it while they were running in the yard. The dogs lined up on the porch and he gave them each their treats. Their tails thumped happily, a tune loud enough to drown out the lull of the cello in his mind. Eventually, he found his bed and sleep consumed him quickly.

He suspected he wouldn't have such a reprieve today. 

He pushed off the bed, first going to shower. The dogs could wait the few minutes it would take him to shower and dress. And they did, quite patiently. His morning routine was accomplished without the lull of the cello. The drive to Quantico passed quickly but by the time he had arrived, he couldn't help but feel restless. He couldn't focus on anything in front of him and everything seemed to be too much. The lights, the sounds of people walking, the eyes that followed him. It felt like a cheese grater was being ground against exposed nerves and every second felt like an eternity. Too much. It was all just too much. He left Quantico in a rush. 

He was halfway to Wolf Trap when his phone rang. He pulled off the road into a parking lot, answering the call. 

"Graham?" He answered, his voice tense. He hadn't bothered to look at the caller ID, he had just assumed it was important.

"Hello, Will." Hannibal's voice soothed the tension within him. "I hope I am not calling at an inopportune time."

He let out a breath and shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "No." He said, trying to center himself. "What can I do for you?"

Hannibal paused for a second. "At the risk of overstepping doctor-patient confidentiality, I feel it's my ethical duty to alert you to something." Will waited for him to continue. "A patient of mine fears a friend of his might have been responsible for the murder at the symphony." Will's attention was caught immediately. "A man named Tobias Budge. He owns a shop here in Baltimore. I have an appointment with this patient later today. I fear, if he is correct, Budge might try to kill him."

Will looked at the clock on his dash. It was just a little past noon and it would take almost an hour and a half to drive to Baltimore. Jack, however, was closer. He told Hannibal that Budge would be looked into before hanging up and calling Jack. The other was as ecstatic as he could be all things considered. He told Will he would meet him at Budge's shop before hanging up the phone unceremoniously. Will turned his car around and began the drive toward Baltimore. His nerves were like live wires and he felt every second that ticked by on the long drive.

He was almost to Baltimore when he heard from Jack once again.

"Budge got away," Jack said before he groaned in pain.

"Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine. The bastard used wire. Killed the locals I was with. I shot him but he managed to mess up my hand pretty good. Won't need stitches. Just a bandage or two." Will felt himself sigh with relief. "Any idea where Budge will go next?"

Will's blood froze in his veins. His throat went dry and once again, everything was too much. The light of the sun, the feel of the steering while under his hands, the sound of Jack's breathing on the other end of the phone. He wanted to tear out of his skin. 

"Hannibal," He breathed before dropping the phone and gunning it.

When he arrived at Hannibal's office, the door was already open.

* * *

Hannibal had just been pushed against the ladder when he saw something shift behind one of the doors to his office. Franklyn was already dead on the floor, Hannibal having snapped his neck not long after Budge had entered. He had met Budge three times before. The first time he had been with Franklyn at the opera. The second time had been at Budge's store the day after the symphony murder before he had gone to see Will. The third was the previous night when he had invited Budge to dinner. He had initially invited Budge intending to kill him just as the other had arrived intending to kill Hannibal. But neither had happened, though the other had left with Hannibal knowing he was a threat. It was the reason for his call to Will earlier that day. He had hoped that Will would be the one to kill Budge, but Budge had arrived with blood on his hands and a hole in his shoulder. Hannibal couldn't help but assume the worst. And that made him angry. He thought that Budge had killed his friend, so he had killed Budge's in return.

Only now, as he collected himself against the ladder, did he realize that Will was alive and unscathed. His blue eyes were hard and focused intently on Budge. He stepped into the room one careful foot at a time, stalking Budge as a cat might stalk its prey. Budge was so intently focused on Hannibal that he didn't notice the threat behind him until it was too late. Will lunged for him, grabbing at his injured arm, pulling it, and a scream, from the other man. Budge's body jerked toward Will and away from Hannibal. His hand came up, a fist ready to be thrown at Will, but the other was prepared. He jerked the other's arm once more before using the man's weight against him. Budge and Will fell to the floor, with Will pressing his knee into the other's back. Will still held his right arm while Budge tried to claw at him with his left. He was able to grab the man's other arm, trapping both his hands in cuffs. Will stood with Budge still on the ground. He turned toward Hannibal concern filling his eyes. He made to step closer when a thump drew his attention. Budge had managed to maneuver his body, bringing his hands and cuffs in front of him. It must have hurt immensely, but he didn't cry out in pain. Will was about to turn when Budge wrapped the cuffs around his neck. 

There was a hint of panic in Will's eyes at the suddenness of his air supply being cut off. Hannibal pushed off the desk he had moved to while Will and Budge fought earlier, ready to jump into action to help the other. But Will was in complete control. The panic in his eyes vanished, replaced by something else. Something much darker and terrifying, and the slightest bit arousing. Will shifted his body enough that he could drive his elbow in Budge's sternum. The other gasped for air and Will was able to pull himself free. Will turned, keeping his body between Budge and Hannibal when Budge lunged forward again, his eyes wild. 

He was impressed by Will's strength. It seemed to take little effort for him to drop Budge once more, only he dropped as well. He straddled the other's body and Hannibal could see and hear the sound of his fist repeatedly contacting bone. Will dragged his hand away, his chest heaving, before his hands wrapped around Budge's head and a crack echoed around the otherwise silent office. Will rose slowly, his eyes still glued to the body in front of him. His hand dropped to his side and Hannibal could see his bloody knuckles. His fist kept clenching and unclenching as he took one step away and then another, his back still to Hannibal. The slow movements reminded Hannibal of an animal protecting its mate. He stopped moving when he was about a foot away from Hannibal, his eyes still glued to Budge. His body was tense, waiting, as though he expected Budge to pop up once more and try again. But Budge was dead at Will's hand. His breathing had steadied with each step until he appeared calm. Still. Hannibal wasn't even sure if the other remembered that he was in the room. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He pushed off the desk once again and Will tensed once more. He didn't seem to remember he was there. But then Will turned toward him, spinning slowly. His eyes were filled with the same dark intensity as before only the moment they found Hannibal the intensity faded, replaced with concern once more. He raised his hand as if he were about to touch his face only to drop it. 

"You're hurt." It was a matter-of-fact statement.

Hannibal stepped forward again, shrinking the distance between them. He was certain he looked disheveled, but he could hardly care. Instead, he lifted Will's hand gently, examining his knuckles. Will watched him intently. He heard others enter the room, Jack among them and he looked up to greet them. But Will was still focused on him, studying him as though he weren't certain of what he was seeing in front of him. The other only looked away when Jack approached. Hannibal could see the bandage on his hand but otherwise, he looked relatively unharmed. Of the three of them, he probably looked the worst. Budge had managed a few good hits and a stab to his leg before Will had arrived. Will explained what had happened, his voice calm and even as he went over the events leading up to Budge's death.

Jack then looked to Hannibal to fill in the pieces he was missing.

"Budge killed Franklyn." He nodded to the other body on the floor. "Then he attacked me. He might have killed me too if not for Will."

"Could Franklyn have been who Budge was serenading?" Jack asked. 

Will blinked as he looked over to the body. 

"Franklyn knew more than he was telling me. He told Mr. Budge he didn't have to kill anymore."

At that, Will's head turned again, slowly. "I think it's likely, Jack."

EMTs bustled around them, examining them both. Hannibal sat in his chair at his desk, letting them work. Will, however, hovered nearby sitting on the edge of the desk. An EMT wrapped his hand after finishing with Hannibal and then left the two alone. Neither of them were terribly injured. Will radiated powerful energy, his eyes watching everything until the others began to filter from the room, taking the bodies of Franklyn and Budge with them. 

"I want your report on this tomorrow," Jack said in lieu of a goodbye before following the rest from the room, leaving Will and Hannibal alone. 

"When Budge first arrived, he said he had killed the men who came to question him." Hannibal looked up to find Will's eyes focused on him. "I was worried you were dead."

Will's lips twitched slightly. The other's hair had lost whatever attempt to tame it that had previously been there. Curls fell across his forehead. His clothes were angled awkwardly, partially from his perch on the edge of Hannibal's desk. The scruff of his beard was tamed and it framed his face in such a way that it made him look dignified without trying, even while the rest of him looked rumpled and wild. His eyes were still as hard, but they softened every time he looked at Hannibal.

"Jack went to question Budge. I was on the road when you called me so I called him to tell him about the lead. I knew he would want to jump on it." Jack had told them what happened when he went to question Budge. Outwardly, the man was calm and collected but when Jack left to take an important call, Budge killed the other two officers and tried to kill Jack too. The moment Jack said the call was important, Will's eyes filled with understanding. "He called me saying that Budge had got away and all I could think of was getting to you." Will smiled shyly and Hannibal felt his lips quirk too.

"Well," He shifted in his seat, "I was going to call you later to make this invitation but I suppose I can now." Will looked at him curiously. "I'm having a small get together tomorrow night. I hope you will come. If nothing more than for me to thank you for saving my life."

"I doubt I would be good company." His voice was low.

"I disagree."

Will searched his face, his eyes darting over every inch of it, and stopping at what he now knew was a cut next to his lip. There was another on his forehead that Will's eyes jumped to before he nodded slightly. He turned, grabbing a paper, and writing his address before giving it to Will. The other looked at it for a long moment as if he were memorizing it before folding it neatly and putting in his jacket pocket. Neither of them said anything more but instead sat in amicable silence. Hannibal eventually canceled the rest of his appointments for the day and the rest of the week. Will's eyes kept drifting back to him as though he feared Hannibal might vanish. Will left somewhat reluctantly, the pair parting at Hannibal's car.

The next night, Will was the first to arrive. He was dressed rather nicely, not exactly in a suit like Hannibal, but Will could have been wearing a chicken costume and Hannibal would have thought him gorgeous. He wore a dark blue shirt tucked into a pair of slacks. He had a suit jacket over it and his normal coat on top. Will offered a small, shy smile as he handed Hannibal the wine bottle he was carrying. Hannibal felt his throat clench momentarily. He led Will through the house knowing the other was gawking at everything around him. The hired staff was already hard at work to help for the evening as Will followed him into the kitchen. Hannibal walked around the counter and put the wine with his private stash. He would wait to open it, wait until it was he and Will alone. Will shifted awkwardly as Hannibal began to work on the food once more. He found himself explaining what he was doing and Will stepped closer to listen and watch. His eyes watched every movement of Hannibal's hand, committing it memory. 

He knew others had arrived as the champagne started flowing from the kitchen, but Hannibal was so focused on performing for Will he couldn't bring himself to greet them. He knew it was rude, but some of the crowd would find it enticing that Hannibal was carefully waiting to reveal himself at the right moment. There were place cards for every seat at the table. Hannibal, of course, was at the head but he had purposely placed Will to his right. The placement would not be lost on Will but when they finally joined the rest of his guests, Will didn't say anything. He kept to himself, not interacting much with the others. It wasn't a particularly large crowd, but they were all within the same social group and Will was now the mysterious newcomer. They would find his silence enticing and the mystery enchanting. 

Will did his best to appear social, but Hannibal knew he was only there for him. He admired the effort. It must have been taxing on him to be around so many new faces, especially given the event of the day before. Yet Will stayed calm and collected throughout the numerous dishes and the poking and prodding of the Baltimore elite. 

Will didn't leave with the rest. Instead, he helped Hannibal clean, his attention solely focused on the task in front of him. It took an hour to clean up from the dinner completely and Will braced himself on the edge of the sink as Hannibal put the last dish away.

"How are you faring, regarding the events of yesterday?" Hannibal asked into the silence between them.

He turned as Will stared into the sink. "I feel nothing."

"You are numb to the act?" Hannibal asked.

"No," Will answered. "I feel nothing. No remorse, no regret. Killing Budge didn't matter to me."

"What did you feel while you were killing him?"

Will's fingers gripped the sink. The knuckles Hannibal could see had turned white with the action. His other hand was still wrapped. "A quiet sense of...power." He whispered.

"It felt good to kill him," Hannibal said.

Will swallowed and nodded.

"Killing must feel good to God too," He stepped forward, the distance between them suddenly feeling like the length of the ocean. "He does it often."

"It's not the act of killing that bothers me," Will said softly.

"Then what is?" Will finally turned to look at him, raw emotion evident in those brilliant eyes. Hannibal stepped forward once again. "You were worried I might not see you the same way." Will swallowed.

Hannibal was already more than well aware of his infatuation with Will. The moment he had decided he preferred Will alive had solidified that idea in his mind. But now he was certain his feelings for Will might run deeper than infatuation. He had rarely ever felt emotions for other people outside of curiosity. There were only a few exceptions to this; his parents, his sister, but beyond that, he rarely felt much. The only other expectation might be Chiyoh, who he considered something akin to family. But Will. Seeing him, truly seeing him, the day before had sparked something else within him. His wild darkness, his protectiveness, the calm afterward. It was nothing short of love that he felt now. 

"How do you see me, Dr. Lecter?" Will hadn't raised his voice above a whisper. 

_A god. Full of righteous wrath and vengeance._ They were so close now that Hannibal could feel the heat from the other's body. Will drew him in as though he were a fish on a reel. And he was helplessly caught.

When he finally answered, his voice was no louder than Will's. "I just see you."


	9. Identity Lost

A week passed before the world went insane again. Will spent most of it trying to center himself once more. When he had started consulting with the FBI, at least two murderers were running around. The Angel Maker had been found but his copycat hadn't. Then there was the bathtub murderer, Abel Gideon, the reappearance of the Ripper, and Tobias Budge. Six murderers and one profiler. The Angel Maker was dead, the bathtub murderer was caught, Budge was dead, and Gideon was imprisoned. That left the Ripper and the copycat out and about. The Ripper had left a series of bodies already so it was unlikely he would kill again so soon. But for some reason, Will couldn't help but think that the Ripper wasn't done. Will spent his time trying to clear out his mind of three of the six killers. Gideon would become a problem again, he just knew it. But so would the Ripper. And then there was the copycat. After Budish killed himself, there weren't any more angels but that didn't stop the angel from reappearing in his mind. And the familiarity of the murder. He had thought the faceless murderer in his dreams was the bathtub killer, but maybe it was the copycat. It was like he was playing chess without being able to see the other half of the board. The Ripper made a move, he made a move, but it was ultimately useless.

And then there was whatever was happening between him and Hannibal Lecter. It was strange to have someone in his life who knew him so deeply, who had seen him at his worst and hadn't rejected him or was afraid of him.

_I just see you._

It was as terrifying as it was exciting to be seen. Hannibal had seen him, but the other was still hiding behind his walls. He was hiding something and Will knew it. He couldn't help but argue with himself over it. On one hand, he knew there was nothing inherently romantic between him and Hannibal and to assume as much might be overreaching. On the other, he preferred sins of omission to outright lies and from what he could tell, Hannibal hadn't lied. 

Rather than spend all his time spinning his wheels about the various thoughts in his mind, he decided to focus on menial tasks. By the time a week had passed, he made significant progress on his boat, fixed a few things here and there in his house, gone finishing, and had spent more time with his dogs going for longer walks than normal. It was when he woke up on the morning of the seventh day that everything started up once again.

The day started as usual. Will let the dogs out, showered, made their food and his coffee, and then started on his way to Quantico. Will was still on the road when Jack called him, telling him where to meet him as something had come up. Will didn't think much about it assuming it was another crime scene and another murderer that would be taking up space in his mind. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that it was one that was already there. 

Will arrived at the observatory, following Price inside. The other had come to find something that was left in his car when Will arrived, making it rather convenient timing. It wasn't as though the observatory was all that big, but one could wander for a bit if they didn't know where they were going. Will followed Price into the building, the other humming to himself. Jack greeted him as he entered, his voice hard and his posture stiff. Will stepped forward, to find a severed arm with a phone grasped in the hand awaiting him. There was nothing else, no body, no prints. Just the arm and the phone within its grasp. Will looked around at the observatory itself, wondering about the placement of the arm until Zeller's voice rang out.

"We have a match." Will stepped forward to meet the other four crowded around the arm. 

He was squished between Jack and Beverly with Price and Zeller next to them, all five of them focused on the arm.

"Jack," Beverly said quietly. "It's a Miriam Lass."

Miriam Lass was an FBI trainee who had been assigned to the Ripper case as it began to heat up. Jack had needed more bodies and Miriam was a more than qualified investigator. Miriam was presumed dead, the Ripper's last victim before he vanished. There was no evidence of decay, no evidence that it had been held on ice for two years to preserve it.

"Lividity suggests the arm was cut off," Zeller paused for a second, his eyes slowly raising to Jack's. "While her heart was still beating."

Before Jack could answer the phone started ringing, an unknown number showing on the screen. Jack raised his hand to silence the rest of them before he accepted the call, putting it on speaker so they all could hear.

"Hello?" He asked.

"Jack." A woman's voice called through the phone. "Jack. It's Miriam." Will could hear Jack's breath catch. "Jack, I don't know where I am. It's so dark." Her voice began to take on an edge of panic. "Jack, I was so wrong. I was so wrong." The call cut off with Jack still staring at the phone as though more were about to be said. But the call was over. 

"Miriam left me that message the day after she went missing," Jack said quietly. "The Ripper must have recorded it."

"What did she mean? What was she wrong about?" Will asked. Jack blinked at the arm once more as if it would tell him the answers, at least in sign language, but it was perfectly still. 

"Miriam was following a lead," Jack said eventually. He shook his head. "It would have taken so much red tape to follow if I had done it, but Miriam could do it without the madness."

"What lead?" Beverly pressed and Will found himself grateful that he didn't have to. But when Jack failed to answer, it became Will's turn to press the issue.

"Do you still have her files? Her notes on the case?" 

Jack's head shot upward. "I do." He turned to the four of them, his eyes clearing as Will saw the idea behind them. "I'll bring the files. We'll go through them. If we can find the lead Miriam was following we could find her and the Ripper." His eyes became thoughtful before he looked at Price and Zeller. "Collect whatever you can here. Find me something to point us in the right direction." He turned to Beverly. "Any way we can track that call?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Jack nodded and then turned to Will. "Tell me what you see."

Will looked around the observatory once more, his eyes jumping over the telescope, the ceiling, the random star charts, and astronomy tools scattered around the room. Outwardly, it would just seem like an out of the way place for the Ripper to place a body part without being interrupted or found. But Will saw the underlying message.

"It's an observatory," He said, his eyes still jumping around.

Jack opened his mouth likely to say that Will was stating the obvious before he stopped himself and looked around too. "The Ripper saying he's watching us."

 _Observing._ Will thought as he continued to add to his mental profile of the Ripper.

From everything he had gathered from looking at past crime scene photos to his own experiences with the Ripper, he knew the Ripper was intelligent, favored art, saw others as pigs and unworthy of their organs, was likely a cannibal, and had a flair for the dramatic. The placement of the arm in the observatory was as much a statement that he was watching the investigation as it was a statement that the term he would use was 'observing.' He was studying them like they were lab rats running around a maze he constructed. And they were dutifully running it. 

He didn't even notice that Price and Zeller had left, taking the arm with them, until Beverly touched his arm gently. He shook himself and followed her out of the building.

* * *

Alana walked along the sidewalk that led to Hannibal's office. Several things were rattling around in her mind, among them the fact that her friend and mentor had nearly been murdered the week before. If not for Will, Hannibal might be dead. And that was another thing rattling around her mind. Will had lost his job with the New Orleans Police Department because he wasn't able to pull the trigger on the job. And now he had just taken a man's life with his bare hands and was out in the field again a week later. She worried about him. The last time they spoke, however, Will seemed more stable than she had ever seen him. He was normally reserved to the point he could almost come off cold. But she knew better. He felt too much and it was easier to hide behind walls and a chilly exterior than it was to let everyone in and be overwhelmed by emotions that were not his.

She had parked some distance away to waste time between her arrival near the building and the time she arrived at the doorstep of Hannibal's office. She knew his patterns, he hadn't changed them much since he was her mentor, and he would just be finishing with his last patient before his lunch hour. She arrived at the stoop when another walked from the office. 

It was amazing what people saw when they first looked at a person. With Will, she had seen someone who always tattered on the edge, never really falling over but never staying firmly on one side. With Hannibal, she had seen a mentor, someone who was always in complete control over their environment and used that to take others under his wing.

But with this woman now coming down the steps from Hannibal's office, she saw a goddess. She had sharp features and a refined look as though she had just stepped from a painting. Her eyes were bright green, her long, chestnut-colored hair was carefully tied behind her head, her clothes were carefully chosen to show that she had wealth but didn't show how much. She had one arm wrapped in a sling but she walked as though it nor anything else mattered to her. Her demeanor changed though when she saw Alana approaching the building she had just left. Her eyes seemed to brighten more, curiosity under sea-green eyes.

"You here for Dr. Lecter too?" She asked, her voice smooth like honey.

"He's a friend," Alana answered. "Alana Bloom."

"Margot Verger."

"Pleasure," Alana said as they shook hands. Margot's eyes searched her for a moment.

"Pleasure's all mine." Their hands dropped. "How do you know Dr. Lecter?"

"He was my mentor at Johns Hopkins." She said.

A smile crossed the other's face along with an appreciative but mischievous look. "Ah. Dr. Alana Bloom then." Alana felt herself blush. "I hope to meet you again, Dr. Bloom."

Alana found herself watching the other go before she remembered why she was even on the sidewalk in the first place.

* * *

They had just returned to Quantico when they were called out once again. Price and Zeller barely had time to put Miriam Lass's arm in the morgue before they received the call, all of them dragging rather slowly out the door.

He shouldn't have been surprised that they were being called to a crime scene left by Abel Gideon. Gideon was about to face Dr. Frederick Chilton in court on accusations of Chilton driving him to murder. After Alana had suggested as much, Gideon clung to the idea. And Will had known Gideon would become a problem again at some point. He just hadn't expected it to be the same day as the Ripper left an arm for them. Miriam's files would have to wait as they each began the drive to Baltimore. Jack was in front in his SUV. Beverly, Price, and Zeller had all piled into Beverly's car and like another lifetime ago, were singing songs loudly out the windows and every now and then waving to Will who was in the back of the pack. Normally, Will would have ridden with someone else to save on gas, but he needed some time for himself as he and the Ripper danced around in his mind. Also, it was kind of amusing to watch Zeller stick his head partially out the window and attempt to serenade him while the three cars hurtled down the highway at 60mph. 

The crime scene Gideon had left was on the side of the road. Gideon was being transported to the jail attached to the court for the trail that was supposed to begin later in the day. But Gideon's transport had never arrived and local PD had traced the vehicle to its current location. Will could see how Gideon escaped, dislocating his thumb and overpowering his guards. One guard, he had kicked against the ceiling and the other, he cut his throat open with his handcuffs. The driver was overpowered next before Gideon began to dissect them, leaving their organs tied to the trees with ribbons made from their own blood vessels. The whole scene was very Ripper-esque without the same drive the Ripper had behind it. The Ripper was who Gideon had in mind when he left the scene, but it wasn't because he thought he was the Ripper anymore. This was a present for the Ripper, complete with bows on organs.

He stood apart from the bodies, letting the others work until another joined him. Alana appeared at his shoulder, bundled in a snug looking jacket which didn't seem to work. Either that or her chills were due to something more than the cold. 

"I can't help but think that if I hadn't," She began but Will cut her off.

"This isn't your fault." Will looked from her back to the bodies. "As much as I would love it to be, this isn't even Chilton's fault either. While it's true that Gideon is susceptible to suggestion, this act is deliberate. This is planned, calculated. This is Abel Gideon. You didn't do this."

He could feel Alana's eyes on him and could see a small, but satisfied smile on her lips. 

"Hello, Alana." Jack greeted as he neared them. He turned to Will, angling himself so they could both still see the bodies. "What do you think?"

"Gideon lost his sense of self. He was convinced he was the Ripper for so long, his only way to gauge who he is, is by using the Ripper as his measurement." Will vaguely heard Beverly state that there was a trail leading back toward Baltimore. "Since he lost who he was, he might try to find the Ripper to reclaim himself." As he spoke another realization dawned on him and he felt himself turn toward Alana. She looked back at him and the realization settled in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight. He turned slowly back toward Jack who had seen the revelation but didn't know what it was. "He also might try to find all his psychiatrists. The Ph.D. students who tried to treat him. Anyone who got into his head and told him who he was and was not since they were the ones who furthered his loss of self." He could feel Alana tense next to him. "You should assign someone to Alana and probably Frederick Chilton just in case."

Jack nodded. "I'll need a list of all everyone who ever worked with Abel Gideon."

"He's heading toward Baltimore. It's safe to say that anyone outside of Maryland and maybe Virginia is safe at the moment."

"Paul Carruthers will be on that list. I remember reading his paper about narcissistic personality disorder and Gideon."

They were too late to save Carruthers and Gideon had just barely managed to escape. Carruthers' heart had just given out when they entered the room, having been drained of blood and his tongue removed and attached to his neck. Ironically, Freddie Lounds had arrived only minutes after them. Will heard her tell Jack that she had received a call from who she thought was Carruthers about an article about Abel Gideon. It was likely that Gideon was the one on the other side of the phone. Freddie was incredibly lucky. She too had interviewed Abel Gideon but since she hadn't been one to fumble around in his head, it's unlikely Gideon would have killed her. But that didn't mean he didn't have something special in mind for Freddie Lounds. 

Will did his best to avoid Freddie. 

Alana had followed them from one seen to another and the sight of Carruthers had solidified the idea of her looming danger in Will's mind. She left with an armed escort. 

For a moment, Will's mind shifted to Hannibal and his worry spiked. But Hannibal Lecter had never been one of the doctors to see Gideon, and Will's worry left as quickly as it came. 

By the time they left Carruthers's office, the sun had set and Will took the long drive back to Wolf Trap, the Ripper still dancing around his mind only to a tune that Abel Gideon now joined. Three killers and Will Graham.


	10. Make Mine Murderer

_Will once again found himself on the dance floor, wrapped in the arms of Hannibal Lecter. He wasn't exactly certain what was playing in the background, but it didn't quite matter. The pair moved around the floor easily, as if they were one being with four legs. The dance spun them around, their bodies pressed close together. Will felt himself smiling as they moved. Their bodies were still close and every movement was fluid. This time Hannibal's eyes didn't look black, they were amber with just a hint of red. And they were completely focused on Will._

_The pair spun once more and suddenly they were joined on the floor by others._

_Will could see Abel Gideon, strings tied to his hands and feet, twirled by an invisible puppeteer. Another joined them, the faceless copycat, who was also twirled by an invisible puppeteer. Hannibal's body shifted in Will's arms until it was the body of another. The Ripper. Shadows obscured his face, and as his arms drew away from Will, he saw he too had strings tied around him. The three of them danced to the tune set by the Ripper, the invisible puppeteer hovering around them in the shadows._

* * *

Will woke feeling like his head was being compressed in a clamp. He found himself moving slowly through his morning routine, completing it at half speed as if he were moving through sludge. The drive to Quantico felt like it took the whole day to complete and things only became more taxing from there. As promised, Jack brought Miriam's files. Box after box was brought from Jack's SUV into his office. There was still a manhunt for Abel Gideon, but those within the Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI were taking a different approach to finding him. Abel Gideon was on a hunt for the Chesapeake Ripper. And so were they. 

Each of them was assigned a box of research and Jack took one for himself before they began digging through it, combing for any clues as to where Miriam went on her final day. Will began his day in the lab with Price, Zeller, and Beverly. He looked through his own box of scattered notes and papers while Price and Zeller talked back and forth, though neither of them managed to complete a sentence without the other finishing it. Will looked up as Zeller waved his hand dramatically and Will caught sight of words scrawled on his wrist. At first, he thought it was a note that Zeller had written himself but he noted the slight redness around the edges. His eyes shot to Beverly, wondering if what he saw was true. Price and Zeller continued to talk — or maybe argue he wasn't certain — when Beverly's eyes finally caught his. She looked over to the other two before looking back to him and mouthing the word 'soulmate.' Will looked back, watching Price gestured wildly with his hand and seeing a set of words on his wrist as well. His eyes flitted back to Beverly who shrugged. 

Will could only take so much more of Price and Zeller's bickering and when Beverly managed her way into the conversation it became too much. He took the box into the office he had been using. There were so many notes and files that Will thought he might drown in them. A majority of it was information he already knew. Notes on the various Ripper kills, details on each of the bodies, but there were some small details he wasn't privy too. Will left the office once to grab coffee and lunch before burying himself in file after file once again. Words began to swim in front of his eyes as he read through everything. 

There was nothing inherently in common among all the victims. Age, gender, race, sexuality, profession, education level. All varied. And that was only in reference to the Ripper's victims before his two-year hiatus. The most recent victims were also varied. But again, Will had a feeling of familiarity. Something about the murders, all of the murders, was so close to connecting that it was making him itch. The familiarity had first appeared at the scene of Valerie Ormand, the angel not made by the Angel Maker.

Will pulled her file from his desk, setting it next to the files of all the Ripper victims. From the first moment he had seen Ormand's body, he was certain there was something more to the kill. Much like the rest of the Ripper's victims, there was a surgical trophy taken from Ormand, her kidney. Now that he saw all the bodies together, he knew he was right. The familiarity in the scene had been because he had known who her killer was. Valerie Ormand wasn't a victim of some copycat. She was the victim of the Ripper. The same man who had once left a man's tongue in his Bible as a bookmark. 

The Ripper seemed to target those who were unworthy in his eyes. Will wondered what Ormand's crime was. 

It took two hours and an annoying amount of transfers to have his question answered. Before her death, Ormand was had several pending investigations against her with patients claiming abuse and fellow nurses stating she was often rude. Will hung up the phone certain that Ormand fit the Ripper's profile. But why copy the Angel Maker? What did the Ripper have to gain by making his murder look like someone else's? For one, no one thought the Ripper was behind her death.

Will sighed as he pushed her file aside. He would have to ask the Ripper himself when they found him.

The day ticked by as he read file after file. He was certain the sun had set when he moved onto the next. He held it in his hand, debating whether or not it was a file worth opening. He could always continue tomorrow. But then his eyes flicked to the door and he remembered Alana standing there, her sky blue eyes filled with a smile. Alana had an armed escort with her at all times because Abel Gideon was out and about, looking for vengeance. And looking for the Ripper. 

A knock on his door drew his attention once again and he set down the file he was holding.

"There's another body," Beverly said from the door. She looked as tired as he felt, her dark brown eyes filled with exhaustion. "It's almost here."

He followed Beverly to the morgue as the body was unzipped. It was strange seeing a body in person compared to the pictures he had seen all day. It was almost unreal. This victim was another psychiatrist, Dr. Carson Nahn, murdered in the same manner that Gideon had killed Carruthers. Except there was a limb missing from the body, an arm. The removal of the arm was precise, nearly surgical. And the removal of the tongue was done far better than Gideon had the first time. It could be attributed to the fact that Gideon hadn't been a practicing surgeon in some years and needed time to remember how to ride the proverbial bike. If he hadn't spent the whole day staring at Ripper victims, he might have looked right past the precision. But the Ripper was firmly ingrained in his brain, so much so that he could see all of the Ripper's kills on the back of his eyelids. 

"It's the Ripper," Jack said, looking at Will. He nodded, pleasantly surprised that someone else had made the leap he had.

"He's telling us where to find Gideon." He paused. "Actually, he's telling you."

Jack looked down at the body once more and Will could see the moment the pieces clicked. It was in that same second he received a call. Frederick Chilton's guards were dead and he was missing.

He was incredibly glad Jack was in charge. They had arrived with what felt like a miniature army, marching out in the cold, dark night. The majority had followed Jack inside, but he had sent more around the perimeter. Will stayed closer to the cars only to find that Abel Gideon had been corralled and was running in his direction. Gideon stopped the moment he saw Will. He expected a fight, he expected Gideon to try to escape his pursuers and Will, he expected anything other than what happened. The others were closing in on Gideon, guns raised. Gideon's eyes were glued to Will before he stopped and dropped one knee at a time into the snow. He pulled his hands behind his head, keen eyes still focused on Will.

"You know, Freddie Lounds has quite a lot to say about you. It's part of the reason I invited her to join me in the first place. I read an article about the FBI's 'insane' profiler who catches killers." Gideon said as the others approached slowly. "I don't know if I'll ever be myself again. But you," He paused as one hand was jerked behind his back and Will could hear the sound of cuffs clicking into place. "You have a much bigger game ahead of you." He was hauled to his feet, his eyes alight. "Be seeing you, Mr. Graham."

Jack reappeared in the doorway of the observatory as an ambulance arrived and Gideon was led away. The officers moved Gideon past him and Will couldn't help himself.

"Did you find him? The Ripper." He asked in a low voice.

"No," Gideon answered, and he was led away before could say anymore.

Will watched as Chilton was wheeled from the observatory. His guts were held carefully in his hands and his eyes were blinking into the night as though he was fighting to state awake. It would be a long night for Frederick Chilton as his guts were literally spilled. It would take a skilled hand to put them back in.

Jack commanded the scene, his voice booming over the snow. He couldn't help but admire Jack for all that he had been through and continued to go through. Between the Ripper dangling Miriam Lass in front of him and his wife battling cancer, Jack had still somehow managed to continue tracking killers and commanding every scene he was at. He waited for Jack to finish giving orders, the two of them having ridden to the observatory together.

On the way back to Quantico, he found himself reading Freddie's article about him.

Will debated for a moment just falling asleep at his desk. It had been a long day and while it was only 8 pm, he still had a drive back to Wolf Trap. He began organizing the files on his desk for his future self when he looked at the file he had been about to open when the night became exciting. It was a rather thick file without anything written on the outside to denote what was within. Out of curiosity, he opened and examined it. 

The handwriting on the first page he assumed belonged to Miriam Lass. There was a list of names written on the first page with several crossed off. Will moved the page over to thumb through the rest of the file. It was the personal medical records of the Ripper victims.

_Miriam was following a lead. It would have taken so much red tape to follow if I had done it, but Miriam could do it without the madness._

That was lead she had been following when she was taken. The last Ripper victim before Miriam's disappearance was Jeremy Olmstead who was killed in his tool shop. The wound man. For each victim, Miriam had laid out all the doctors who had treated them, going through them one at a time. Will flipped to the part of the file for Olmstead, his eyes jumping over it. He suddenly felt awake and as though he were on the brink of something. His eyes scanned over every page until he found Miriam's list of doctors. She had already visited his PCP, his optometrist, and his dentist. All those named were crossed off her list. Will scanned down the page, looking for the last name to be crossed off. If he was correct, the name she hadn't visited would be among the people she had visited the day she disappeared. There was one last name on the list, an emergency room surgeon who she had yet to cross off. 

Will's heart stopped. He knew the name written on the page. He knew who it was and the worst part was that it suddenly made too much sense. Everything clicked into places he didn't want them to be.

It was none other than Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

He shut the file and left Quantico in a rush.


	11. You're the Ripper

Hannibal arrived at his office in the morning to find a message on his voicemail. He wasn't certain how to feel when Will's voice came over the speaker, stating he would be canceling his appointments for the foreseeable future. How long that future would be, Will didn't say. His message was curt and to the point and he hung up without a goodbye. That was strange in and of itself. But then a week went by and there was still nothing. Hannibal found himself staring at the patient's chair, hoping Will would appear but he never did. Another week went by, and still, Will was not at his doorstep. There were no calls, no surprise lunch visits. Will had effectively vanished. By the third week, he visited Will's house only to find that no one was there. It was completely still and silent. He visited Quantico but it wasn't Will teaching his class. Alana didn't know where Will had gone either, though he could see a hint of worry in her sky-colored eyes. All he had managed to learn was that Alana had been taking care of Will's dogs. Or more accurately, his pack. By the fourth week, it was Hannibal who was called to consult on a case that normally would have been assigned to Will Graham.

The case was a rather strange one, one that definitely could have benefitted from Will's keen insight. Four bodies were found dumped in a river. The bodies were bloated and discolored making them look more like caricatures of humans rather than once living, breathing beings. There were a series of holes that looked as though they were strung up or maybe attached to something. The holes were in neat rows, done by a steady hand.

Around him, he could hear the individual members of Jack's team describe their various findings. The three of them, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, and Beverly Katz seemed to work well together. He could tell, without seeing the marks, that Price and Zeller were likely soulmates, though their relationship seemed to be platonic in nature. Beverly Katz was a blunt woman, who always spoke what was on her mind and was able to reign in the other two when needed. He had met them before, but most of his attention that night was on Will. Will had seemed to be closest to Beverly. It was her who he approached first.

"I don't know where Will is," She said. Hannibal should have felt taken aback by her suddenness in answering his unspoken question. "I assume that's what you were about to ask."

"Yes," Hannibal answered.

"I figured if anyone would know where he was, it would be you. But if you are asking me, then you don't know either."

"His sudden disappearance is quite strange." 

Beverly shrugged. "I would ask Jack." She looked over her shoulder where Jack was currently speaking with Price and Zeller. "He's the only one who hasn't seemed surprised at Will's absence. He probably knows."

He approached Jack next. Jack gestured for him to follow and the pair retreated into his office. He closed the door with a soft click and let out a protracted breath. Hannibal watched as Jack moved around his desk to sit in his chair, gesturing for Hannibal to do the same. Hannibal sat, resting his overcoat on the chair next to him and crossing his legs. He studied Jack, making certain to keep his usual facade. But inside, he was coiled like a spring. Jack did know something — Beverly was correct — and Hannibal could see it written on his face. But Jack had yet to say anything, instead, he stared at his hands for a moment. Hannibal felt the coil within him tighten at every passing heartbeat. 

He wasn't exactly worried about Will. But yet he was. It was an odd feeling to feel so close to someone only to have them vanish. He wondered if this was what loneliness felt like. If so, he wasn't one for the feeling. Hannibal had grown used to keeping others at a distance. He had been alone for so long, since Mischa, that part of him felt like he didn't need another person. Only to have someone crash into his life and crack open his mind like a book. Will knew him, even if he didn't know it was him he knew. And it was maddening to be so known only to have that other person vanish.

"Will called me one morning, a few weeks ago," Jack began, his voice tense. "Saying he found a lead on the Chesapeake Ripper. But to follow that lead, he would need to be covert about it. He didn't say much more. Didn't tell me anything about the lead or where he even was. I found out the following day that he had asked Alana to watch his dogs for him, but he was gone. I receive an email from him every couple of days, mostly telling me he's alive. But he won't say where he is or what lead he's looking into." Jack chuckled sardonically. "The last person who followed a lead on the Ripper vanished. We found her arm a few weeks ago, but-" His voice trailed off.

"You're worried Will found the Ripper?" Hannibal asked. But he knew better. Will hadn't found the Ripper. Or at least, he hadn't confronted the Ripper. 

Jack nodded. "You can take a look at the files he was looking at, maybe you'll see something we missed."

Jack lead him down the hall to the consultant's office. There were three desks in the room. One was empty. Another had a cup filled with pens and pencils and a few papers with the writing of Alana Bloom. The last desk was filled with files and notebooks. Will's desk. Jack left him to look through it alone. Will had been studying the Ripper victims from his very first kill as the Ripper to the Wound Man, who was the last before he decided to stop displaying his victims. He had only started again once Will had come into his life. Perhaps that was a mistake.

The file of Valerie Ormand was also on the desk and Hannibal couldn't help but feel slightly pleased that Will had connected the pieces between his copycat murder and the rest of the Ripper victims. 

There was one file in the center of the table, presumably, the last file Will had been looking at before he had vanished. Hannibal opened it, seeing a handwritten page on top. The writing was not Will's, it was likely that of a woman due to the slant of the writing and the accentuation on her letters. Graphology was a hit or miss study. Somethings were easily discerned from a person's handwriting, some weren't. He suspected this writing belonged to Miriam Lass. He began to flip through the pages, seeing a pattern. Private medical history. He remembered the day Miriam had found him. She was asking about a patient Hannibal had seen while he was still a surgeon, Jeremy Olmstead, whom he had made into the Wound Man. Every victim attributed to the Ripper before his two-year break was in the file. Before each person was a list of names, the various doctors that had seen them. Hannibal flipped to the section belonging to Olmstead. This was how Miriam had found him two years ago. 

But everything about Jeremy Olmstead was gone. 

Hannibal's name would have been on the list of doctors to see Olmstead, it was the man's rudeness when he was Hannibal's patient that caused Hannibal to ultimately chose him as a victim. And yet nothing was showing that Miriam Lass had looked into Olmstead. But he knew that wasn't true. It could only mean one thing. Will had seen it. And he knew. Yet he had taken Olmstead's part of the file with him, effectively protecting Hannibal. 

But Will hadn't come to confront him. In fact, no one seemed to know what exactly had happened.

So, where was Will?

By the fifth week, he was ready to explode. He had to do something. He even debating revealing Miriam Lass to see if that would draw Will out. Instead, he opted for something else. Another body, likely belonging to the same killer, was discovered. Hannibal could smell the distinct scent of corn in the crack of the resin that covered the man's body. Much like the others, they would no doubt find silicone and heroin in the man's body. Hannibal would find him first. 

The death of James Gray didn't bring Will out of the woodwork. Though it had sent the FBI in a tizzy. They had been able to prove that it was James Gray, who was dubbed the Muralist, that killed all the others found in his mural. Hannibal thought it a little ironic when he sewed Gray into his own artwork. He wasn't the first artist to have been featured in his art, and he couldn't help but think that the eye Gray had so carefully created became his own. His way of staring at God, an attempt to demand his friend back.

Outwardly, he was as calm and collected as he always was. It wasn't a hard mask to put on. It had become second nature to use the mask, no matter what inner turmoil he was experiencing. He had first perfected the mask after the death of Mischa. It's first real test was with Chiyoh and the man he claimed killed and ate Mischa. It was half true, he had killed her. It was amazing what people would do when they thought they would become wealthy. A seemingly empty castle and it was a buffet for the greedy. Mischa had barely been hanging on, the pair of them near starvation. Mischa didn't survive the man. Hannibal did. 

Six weeks passed.

It was then that he gave into the temptation to reveal Miriam Lass. A phone call here, a rope ladder there, and Miriam Lass was once again apart of the living world. Jack had called him to do a psych evaluation on Miriam Lass. Miriam didn't remember him, even though they had spent two years together. Or rather, he spent two years around her. Miriam had a handful of medical cocktails and a bright light to obscure her memory of Hannibal Lecter. But still, Will did not show.

Then seven weeks passed. 

It was amazing to him that someone who had been in his life for so long could leave such a massive hole in his life when they were gone. He found himself wondering who exactly Will Graham was to him. He knew he was infatuated from the other from the moment he laid eyes on him. As time went on, that infatuation grew. Especially after Will had demonstrated how easily he could slide into Hannibal's mind. How easily and completely he had known him even without trying. Just as he had seen Will, Will had seen him. And then he had a brief moment where he thought someone had taken Will from him. It wasn't just anger that he had experienced, it was something akin to heartbreak. Only for Will to appear and not only prove he was alive, but that Hannibal had been right. The darkness he had seen was right there under the surface. He was certain he had seen God the day he had finally seen all of Will. Now, Will was gone and he had never been so alone. He almost would have preferred Will never have entered his life to begin with.

There was a saying: "Better to love and lost than to never have loved at all."

But now that he had loved — and he knew it was love — and lost, he would have preferred to never have known how truly alone he was. 

Nearly eight weeks.

Was this heartbreak?

It was the last night of what was two months without Will when Hannibal pulled up in front of his house to find another car there. It wasn't Alana's or any of his patient's cars, not that many knew where he lived. It wasn't Jack's either, as Jack drove an SUV.

He couldn't move fast enough.

He had never truly felt elation before, but he thought this must be the emotion he was feeling now. Every step felt like it took an eternity to complete as he stepped to his door. It was unlocked, but that didn't surprise him. He hung his overcoat on the stand just inside the door, finding another that didn't belong to him already there. The house was quiet, as though there he was the only one in it. It was the smallest bit exciting to know that there was someone else lurking around. Someone just as dangerous. Someone who knew who he was and yet still came to his house to lurk in the shadows that normally belonged to Hannibal. Will was somewhere around him.

He kept his face his normal mask of calm and control as he stepped through his house. It felt almost foreign, as though someone else had come in and claimed everything. It wasn't his anymore, it belonged to someone else. As though a cat had come through and rubbed its scent on everything. No lights were on, no fires were lit. It should have worried him that he was being stalked from the shadows, but it didn't. In fact, it was arousing. 

The dining room was empty too. It was like playing hide-and-go-seek with a ghost. Only he didn't have to wait much longer to find the other.

Will was sitting on the floor of his kitchen. His knees were pulled to his chest and his arms were wrapped around them, as though he were holding himself together. Hannibal had thought seeing Will take another's life was beautiful. Maybe it was true that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Because seeing Will now was akin to how he felt the first time he saw the _Primavera._ Will's hair had grown during his absence, but it wasn't out of control. Just enough that his curls fell over his forehead. His hair looked thicker and the only light in the room, from the moon outside, made his hair light as though he had a halo. His eyes were closed and his breathing even and Hannibal wondered for a moment if the other was asleep. He wore a dark shirt with the top button open, showing a tantalizing amount of skin. 

"Hello, Dr. Lecter." He said, not opening his eyes. Hannibal thought his heart skipped a beat at Will's voice.

"Hello, Will." He paused, fully committing the other to memory. "If I saw you every day, forever Will, I would remember this time."

Will twitched and slowly, he opened his eyes, looking up at Hannibal. He was caught in that gaze, the heavy intense gaze of those brilliant blue eyes. That darkness he had seen when they first met, so carefully hidden behind walls and forts, was there in full. He wasn't hiding anymore. At least, not from Hannibal. He had wanted a reaction, and he knew his words would be enough to earn one if nothing more than because they were true. Will stood, as a slow deliberate movement that made every muscle flex under clinging fabric.

"You're the Ripper," Will said. There was nothing rhetorical about his statement but there was also no malice or any emotion in his voice. He said it as if he were talking about the weather.

Hannibal didn't answer.

He thought Will might kill him then. But he wouldn't put up a fight. Will watched him for a moment, his eyes scanning over his body and he took a step closer. Hannibal stayed perfectly still, waiting for whatever was to come. But nothing happened. Will turned and left, leaving Hannibal to stare at the space he once occupied.


	12. The Many Faces of Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal thought he might not see Will again. At least, he didn't think Will would come to him. He was pleasantly surprised to find Will sitting on his front stoop two days later, waiting patiently for him to return. Will stared at the ground in front of him, and Hannibal couldn't help but wonder if he was on his stoop or somewhere else a thousand miles away. Next to Will sat a black messenger bag. Hannibal walked to him, stopping when they were only inches apart. 

"You could have let yourself in," Hannibal commented lightly. 

Will finally looked up at him, his bright eyes shimmering in the dusk sun. "It would be rude."

Hannibal's lips twitched slightly and he stepped around him, hearing Will stand. He opened the door, stepping inside with Will right behind him. The door shut and he heard Will lock it with a soft click. He hung his overcoat as Will did the same before walking to his kitchen. Will followed him — a shadow — until they were in the kitchen. The last time they had been there, he was certain he was in danger. He was no less certain of that now. To give himself something to do with his hands, he took off his suit jacket and placed it on the chair in the corner. Normally, he would prefer to take it to his room, but he was determined to keep Will in his sights, though he wondered if Will would have followed him to his bedroom as well. He unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves, first washing his hands and then began moving around the kitchen. Just when he was about to open the refrigerator, Will moved, blocking him with a gentle but determined movement. He watched as Will reached into the bag he had been carrying with him. He pulled free something wrapped in parchment paper, offering it to Hannibal. He noted the file in Will's bag as he took what the other offered, setting it on the counter and unwrapping it. 

The fish was already gutted and cleaned, waiting to be used for a meal. Hannibal couldn't help but smirk.

"Not trusting what I serve at my table, Will?"

"Went fishing," Will answered and Hannibal raised an eyebrow. Will looked up at him innocently. "I had extra and I happen to know a good cook."

Hannibal smiled to himself as he began searching for the right set of cookware of the meal he had in mind. While he did that, Will pulled the file from his bag, dropping it onto the counter with a loud slap. Hannibal looked over at him, watching as he opened the file. He had seen the handwriting on the first page of the file in Will's office. The writing belonged to Miriam Lass and there was his name at the bottom of the page yet to be crossed off.

"Could you read that last name for me?" Will asked, his voice a deep purr.

Hannibal was entranced. The other's eyes were full of a playful but dark light. He leaned over, pretending to be curious at the name on the list.

"Hannibal Lecter," He read aloud and Will shut the file again. "You took Jeremy Olmstead's file." It wasn't a question. "There's private medical information there."

Will said nothing as he took grabbed the file off the counter. Hannibal could hear him start a fire while he continued to prepare their meal. After a moment, he could smell paper burning, and seconds later, Will returned to the kitchen. 

"Just one of your many names," Will said quietly. 

"I wasn't aware that I had more than one name," Hannibal feigned boredom. 

Will moved around the counter, slinking like a cat. "Oh, you do, Dr. Hannibal Lecter," He began, his voice low. "The Chesapeake Ripper," With each word he took a step closer until they were almost touching. "Il Mostro."

"You've been busy, Will." Will hummed and Hannibal could feel the weight of his eyes on him. "How was Florence? It's been some time but I doubt it has changed much."

"You haven't been forgotten there." Will straightened and walked back around the counter until he was firmly on the other side. Hannibal wasn't certain if he was breathing easier or harder with Will just out of reach. "I didn't go to Florence first," And Hannibal knew the whole story was about to spill from Will's lips. "I asked Alana to watch my dogs and instead I rented a room in Baltimore. I figured if you came looking for me, you might start at my house." He had. "It's quite interesting what you can find on the internet. It's such a shame that you were bothered by the Questura. Rinaldo Pazzi was like a dog with a bone." Will's eyes focused on him with intensity. "As are you." Hannibal could drown in that gaze and the mind behind it. How easily Will had connected so many pieces. How easily he had figured him out when no one else could. 

He couldn't help but notice Will's use of the word 'was' but he continued for Hannibal could ask.

"I went to Lithuania next." Hannibal's hand stuttered for a moment but he continued his work. "You didn't tell Chiyoh the truth."

"And you can discern the truth where she didn't."

Will ignored his statement. "It must be lonely."

"It must be."

Hannibal plated the meal, one for him and one for Will. Will moved through the kitchen swiftly, grabbing wine glasses while Hannibal grabbed the wine. How Will knew his way around the kitchen so well, he didn't know. Will held both the glasses while Hannibal filled them before he exchanged one for a plate. They moved in such sync, Hannibal wondered what else had happened to Will while he was gone. 

The two ate in silence for what felt like an eternity. 

"It's a rare gift, to see someone for who they are."

Will looked up at him, raw emotion on his face. "I don't need a rare gift."

Hannibal would do anything to continue to hear his voice. The richness, the emotion that flooded through. He could be sustained on this alone. The very sight of Will, the sound of his voice.

He was in love.

"Just you." The next words were softer, spoken so quietly Hannibal wasn't certain they were said. That was until his chest began to burn, right over his heart. He sucked in a breath. Normally, he could handle pain. But this wasn't completely pain. This was bittersweet, pleasure laced within it. It felt as though someone was using a red-hot poker to write over his heart. The pain seared through him and then was gone as quickly as it came. 

Will took a bite of his meal, staring directly at Hannibal as he did.

* * *

Will stared at his computer, seeing a younger Hannibal Lecter stare back. The article was translated from Italian to English and some words were missing here and there, but Will understood the gist. The article detailed a raid on his home, looking for evidence that Hannibal Lecter was, in fact, _Il Mostro de Firenze,_ the Monster of Florence. There were a series of murders, one of which had a couple left in the bed of a truck, their bodies posed as though they just walked out of a Botticelli painting. Will had seen that before. Had seen how the Ripper, or this case Il Mostro, could make death into a piece of art. That art stayed with him well into his dreams. 

He spent the first week warring with himself over how he felt, and who it felt it for. He hunted serial killers for a living. And Hannibal hunted others. 

Yet his mind insisted on reminding him that he had killed for Hannibal Lecter already. He remembered the moment in Hannibal's office, watching Budge stalk toward him and the anger that had seared through him. At first, it was anger anyway, and then it was something much darker and much calmer. 

He didn't know how many archives he dug through until he found more information on Hannibal Lecter. And what he found was even worse. 

The article showed a family; two parents, a young boy, and a young girl. It didn't take much to realize the article was an obituary to the Count and Countess Lecter and their youngest child. A girl, Mischa. According to the article, the Count and Countess had died before their daughter, but no one had known due to the reclusive nature of the family. The deaths of the family were only known after Robertus Lecter hadn't heard from his brother, only to find that only his nephew, a young Hannibal Lecter was the only surviving member. It didn't take much more digging to learn that it was thought that Mischa Lecter died of starvation. Her body was never recovered, but Hannibal had on the brink when he was received by his uncle. And then Will, he truly knew.

Hannibal had made a choice, life or death. He chose life. 

Will went to Florence first. The city fit Hannibal Lecter well, he could see him as a young man roaming the streets. Everything felt different and yet exactly the same. It was as though the city had jumped from a painting, perhaps one of the drawings in Hannibal's office. He found his way, after a lot of walking in the afternoon sun, to the Uffizi Gallery. The inside was quiet, as though too much noise might wake the paintings. He could still see all of Hannibal's artwork on the back of his eyes when he found the _Primavera._ And suddenly there was Hannibal Lecter beside him, staring at the painting with him. He could see him recreating the painting in pencil, without even bothering to look up. He was so focused, every line came out fluidly as though he was creating the art from scratch. 

And then there was someone actually sitting next to him. Will looked over, seeing who had taken the place of Hannibal.

"Signore Graham," The man said, his voice thick with a heavy accent. "Inspector Rinaldo Pazzi." Will blinked at him and the other continued. "I was wondering when someone would find their way here."

"Read Tattlecrime have you?" Will turned back to the painting, hearing a chuckle next to him.

Pazzi went on to describe the investigation he had once been a part of, his pursuit of a young Hannibal, and his notice that the crimes of the Chesapeake Ripper were similar to that of Il Mostro. He had assumed that if someone didn't come looking soon, they might. Or he might continue his pursuit in America, searching out the Monster and the Ripper. Will almost found it amusing. It was sheer luck that anyone had found Hannibal in the first place. He didn't know what happened when Miriam found him, but it was unlikely that anyone would find him the same way again. Will had made certain of it. He had gone back the next night to Quantico and taken the part of Miriam's file belonging to Jeremy Olmstead. The doctors for each of the Rippers victims had been looked into in the past, no one would suspect Hannibal Lecter without Miriam's notes. And now, no one ever would.

Why he went back, he didn't know. Maybe it had to do with the tension in his gut when he thought about Hannibal behind bars. Or maybe it had something to do with the way he felt so seen, so completely seen, when Hannibal looked at him. There was no hiding. No need to. 

_Maybe he's trying to bring the darkness out in someone else. Maybe by showing them that darkness can be beautiful, he hopes they'll accept their darkness too._

Hannibal had made an angel _for him_. To show him that he saw the darkness within him and that he thought it beautiful. Hannibal had only known him for a day at that point, they had one conversation, and yet he was already so willing to see everything within him. 

Will stood without waiting for Pazzi to finish his story and began to make his way out of the gallery. He hadn't realized how long he had been there as the sun was now touching the horizon. He stepped outside, inhaling the dusk air. Pazzi followed him outside and something in Will's gut burned. He jerked his head, gesturing for Pazzi to follow and the other did. Maybe he thought that Will Graham would be his ticket to finding and finally capturing Hannibal Lecter, and in another lifetime that might have been true. But he had seen the monster and he had seen the man. He knew, and that was far more terrifying than any death that could await him. It was terrifying because he knew he wanted the monster as much as the man, because his own darkness which he had tried to hide for so long, found its match. And it wanted more. He wanted more.

Pazzi didn't stand a chance. It was only as he saw the life leaving Pazzi's eyes, as his body gasped for air under Will's unrelenting grasp that he truly felt he understood Hannibal Lecter. He didn't know he was wrong until he found his way to Lithuania. 

It was seeing Chiyoh, meeting her, talking to her, that he realized he didn't just understand Hannibal Lecter. He understood himself. 

"I've never known myself as well as I have when I'm with him."

Chiyoh didn't react to the statement, didn't react to anything that Will told her. And he couldn't bring himself to react when he learned of the man who Hannibal had said killed and ate Mischa. But Will could see that was only partially true. Mischa died because of him, Will knew that as though it were a fundamental truth of the universe. But it wasn't he who lived because through her death. It wasn't he who carried Mischa with him every day. 

_In some cultures, cannibalism is a way to honor those who have died by taking them into oneself so they could continue living. Then, of course, there are instances of cannibalism for survival._

Honor and survival. 

Will dreamed of Hannibal. He dreamed it was they who were dying, it was they who were falling into the clutches of starvation.

_I would willingly meet my grave a million times if it meant I would spend an eternity with you._

Will had been staying in the room that once belonged to a young Hannibal. But he had never felt more alone.

When news of Miriam Lass resurfacing, joining the living once again, reached him, he saw it for what it was. He saw the call to him.

_Come home._

Hannibal's kitchen had the same feel as a church. It was a sacred space. He had only been in his kitchen once before, watching Hannibal command it as he imagined a god would their temple. He waited for the better part of a day for Hannibal to return, sitting on the floor in his kitchen. It gave him time to think, being this close to him. He didn't bother starting a fire or turning on the lights when the sun went down. He just stayed, waiting for Hannibal to return.

He knew the moment Hannibal opened the front door. It was as though his heart started beating again. 

He didn't know what he had in mind when he went to Hannibal's house once again two days later, but he thought better about starting on the wrong foot. Hannibal was picky when it came to rudeness, and while he tolerated a lot from Will, he wasn't one to push his luck. Not yet anyway. Even though his hands were busy, he knew Hannibal listened with rapt attention as he recalled the highlights of his travels. Or most of them. 

He didn't know what compelled him to make the confession he did, but he knew once it was there it couldn't be taken back. Yet the moment it left his lips, he didn't want to take it back. It felt right in the moment and he heard Hannibal suck in a sharp breath at his admission. They were quiet as Hannibal's amber eyes stared at him, watching every movement as though he were a man dying of thirst and Will himself was the water. They finished their dinner in silence, eyes locking after every movement. Will normally hated eye contact. It was abrasive and intrusive. But with Hannibal, he was trapped, yet he never felt caged. 

They moved in unison after they finished their meals, neither of them speaking still. It was odd how at ease he was with Hannibal, honestly someone he shouldn't be at ease with. 

"I couldn't help but notice your use of the word 'was' earlier."

Will snapped from his thoughts at the sound of Hannibal's smooth accented voice. He focused on the task in front of him, saying nothing to Hannibal's comment. Hannibal looked over at him, as Will removed a clean dish from the water and set it on the rack next to the sink. 

"Am I going to need to hide you from the police, Will?"

Will smirked into the sink. "Why would you?"

He suddenly felt Hannibal's hand on his chin, turning his face so their eyes met once again. Will's breath hitched, the task in his hands all but forgotten.

Eyes were distracting. There was always too much, or too little, to be seen in the eyes of another. Or worst of all, he would see himself as they saw him. And then he would fall down a rabbit hole, seeing himself through their eyes. Eyes were distracting. And if the eyes of anyone were distracting, the eyes of Hannibal Lecter were enchanting. And he saw himself as Hannibal saw him and he saw Hannibal. 

"You always surprise me." Hannibal began. "Killing is a savage pleasure." His voice was barely above a whisper. "We are born to it." Hearing the low, almost growl of Hannibal's voice, the accent that seeped through without even trying, should not have been enticing as it was. "It's a pleasure we can share." How had they moved so close? "But not the only one."

He sucked in a breath as their lips met and Hannibal's thumb caressed his cheek. Will turned to face him fully, their lips still pressed together. Their bodies pressed together easily, slotting together as though they were puzzle pieces. He had just enough wherewithal to pull Hannibal closer without using his wet hands, but Hannibal had no such restrictions. The hand that wasn't pressed to his face slid around his waist, pressing against his lower back and pushing him closer. Something inside him purred. Hannibal's grip on him was gentle, enough to hold him close but not enough to keep him there if he wanted to move away. 

Was this love?

They pulled apart for a breath and Hannibal continued to caress his cheek.

"You don't have to treat me like I'm breakable," Will whispered.

"Not breakable," Hannibal answered and Will opened his eyes, blue meeting amber. "Precious." Their foreheads pressed together and it was all the more intimate. "To me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and kudos. I adore each and every one of them.


	13. Discovery

**8:00 AM**

When Will reappeared after two months, Jack was relieved. He had honestly begun to believe that it was the Ripper sending him the emails updating him rather than Will himself. But Will reappeared, all his limbs still attached to his body. But his eyes were harder, his posture was more closed off. Whatever lead Will had been following, he had found something but, according to Will, not the Ripper himself. Whatever had happened to Will during those eight weeks, he wouldn't talk about and Jack wasn't going to push him. 

Jack had looked through Will's portion of Miriam's notes the day after Will had left him a message stating he was following a lead on the Ripper. Miriam had been focusing on private medical information which was why he assigned that particular set of notes to Will. He could see what others couldn't and maybe there had been something in her notes that would lead him down the right path. But when he went to look at the notes himself, there was nothing he hadn't already seen. Every doctor who had taken care of a Ripper victim was investigated and cleared. He dropped the file with a sigh. 

Will was under no obligation to participate in every investigation they had. His continued cooperation was something Jack probably took advantage of, but he was glad to have it. He should have suspected at some point that Will would need a break. He didn't expect that break would come in the form of chasing down a lead on the Chesapeake Ripper. Alana was the first to come to him, asking where Will had gone. He had asked her to take care of his dogs while he was away, but he didn't specify where he was going or how long he would be gone. It worried him likely as much as it worried her. The only reprieve Alana seemed to have from her worry was when she would receive a text on her phone. Her face would soften considerably and her eyes would fill with some emotion. Jack knew that look, he had been the giver and receiver of that look in the past. He was happy for her and she would seem to float away after whoever was on the other end would text. 

Beverly appeared in his office next, demanding in that blunt way of hers to know where Will was. But Jack couldn't answer her, though he could see in her eyes that she didn't believe him. Price and Zeller were much more subtle about their questions, but even they couldn't hide their curiosity and worry over their missing colleague. Then Hannibal Lecter appeared, and Jack's heart plummeted. A month had gone by without Will reappearing. Only the occasional email here and there but beyond that, he didn't hear from him. Even when he emailed back, there was no reply. The emails would come at odd hours. Sometimes late in the afternoon, sometimes in the middle of the night. And when Hannibal appeared, Jack feared the worst. He had assumed that if anyone knew where Will was, it would be Hannibal Lecter. While Will wasn't officially his patient, they seemed to immediately develop a relationship as Will had said more than once he needed to consult with Hannibal to try to keep his thoughts straight. That coupled with the way Will's voice sounded when he thought Budge was going to kill Hannibal added up to a relationship that went beyond patient-psychiatrist. But not even Hannibal had heard from Will and Jack began to wonder if it was actually the Ripper emailing him. 

James Gray's death added another layer of strange to the events unfolding around him. Gray, AKA the Muralist, was sewn into his own mural. Immediately, Jack suspected the Ripper, but part of him dismissed the thought. How the Ripper would know where to find the Muralist was something Jack couldn't rectify in his mind. He would likely know about the investigation from Freddie Lounds who always found her way into and around the investigations.

The longer Will went without reappearing, the more people became antsy. Alana checked in with him every day, asking about Will's whereabouts. Beverly's head would shot up at any movement, looking to see if it was Will, and Price and Zeller weren't nearly as enthusiastic as normal. As badly as he was taking Will's absence, Hannibal seemed to be taking it the worst. He was antsy, and his composure, while always controlled, slipped just a little. 

By the next week, Miriam Lass reappeared. Had the Ripper found a new toy?

He was equal parts relieved and worried when Miriam rejoined the land of the living. For so long he thought her dead that part of him couldn't help but think of her as apparition before him. She didn't remember anything and it took hypnosis to even remind her of the voicemail she had sent Jack. 

By the seventh week of Will's absence, Miriam had found a new place to live and her been fitted for her prosthetic arm. Her real arm still sat in the morgue at Quantico, a strange sight after its owner reappeared. She was exactly as Jack had remembered her, down to her smallest mannerisms. It was strange what one remembered when someone vanished. 

When Will finally reappeared, Jack had asked Miriam to come to Quantico to review her part in the Ripper investigation to see if it could dredge up some memories. She agreed and both her and Will arrived on the same day. 

He was certain Beverly was going to tackle Will when she saw him and she nearly did. 

"I'm sorry, I know you don't like to be touched," She muttered into his shoulder. "But I was worried."

Will wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her slightly. "It's all right."

Jack introduced Will and Miriam, both of whom he belatedly realized had similar personalities. Both were reserved and observant, watching the world around them without feeling the need to participate in it. Miriam could handle people better than Will who hid behind his glasses and refrained from looking at them whenever possible. But both of them could see what others couldn't and Jack wondered what exactly would happen when they were put to the same test. 

He walked her through the investigation as it was when she was last a part of it before he began detailing everything that had occurred recently. Will stayed out of the conversation but observed. Jack explained how they had been looking through her notes to try to find her. She flipped through the pages, her face beginning to show hints of recognition as she turned each new page. Will watched quietly but intently from his position shadowing them throughout the morning. She flipped through one file, stopping after the last section.

"There were notes on Jeremy Olmstead. I had notes on Jeremy Olmstead."

Jack turned to Will, who had been working with the file before he vanished.

"They weren't in with what I had." His eyes flitted to Jack briefly. "Do you think it's possible the Ripper got them? Or you had them on your person the day you found him?"

Miriam sighed slightly. "It is possible." Her brow furrowed as though she were trying to force a memory to the surface, but it remained buried under whatever the Ripper had done. "I had private notes too that I kept. I never took them with me just in case. A habit from when I was a cop." She blushed sheepishly. "They're in the storage locker with the rest of my things. I could try to find them."

Hope sparked in his chest, but he tamped it down. The Ripper was careful, methodical. It was unlikely there was anything in Miriam's notes that could point to the Ripper. But...

Jack shook himself, returning to the present moment. "I'll help you."

Miriam nodded. "We can go today. I need to grab some things anyway." She looked up at Will. "Will you be joining us?"

He nodded but said nothing more. 

It had taken the better part of the morning to bring Miriam up to speed on the Ripper case and another hour to drive to the storage locker where her belongings were. Both men waited for Miriam to direct them to boxes to look through while she gathered what she needed. None of them spoke as the dug through piles of objects. The big furniture was already taken from the storage unit, Miriam's brother having helped her set up her new apartment. It felt like an eternity before Miriam's voice rang through the air. 

"Got it!" Her face broke out into a wide grin and Jack suddenly felt that everything would be ok. 

He could feel Will's sharp eyes on them as Miriam passed the small, black notebook to him. He tucked it into his jacket, determined to look at it later. The drive back to Quantico was filled with various kinds of tension. By the time they arrived at Quantico, it was nearly dusk. Miriam jumped from his SUV, seeming more like herself by the minute. 

"I hope what you need is in there."

"Thank you, Miriam. And thank you for all your help, I appreciate you taking time for this."

"Of course." She grinned and then turned to Will. "It was nice to meet you."

"It was a pleasure," Will answered, though the sentiment wasn't evident in his voice. 

They watched as Miriam walked to her car, started it, and drove off with another wave. They stood in the parking lot for a moment longer before Will turned to him. There was a question in his eyes that he saw clearly but he also knew Will wasn't going to ask. He nodded and Will offered an appreciative smile before Jack watched him move through the lot toward his own car. Will left with less pomp and circumstance than Miriam, but he noticed both their absences equally. Jack walked into the building, feeling the weight of the notebook against his chest.

* * *

**7:00 PM**

Will arrived at Hannibal's house only seconds before Hannibal did. He had seen the Bentley in his rearview mirror and the smirk on the other's face through the windows. Hannibal greeted him at the door with a small smile and watched as he stepped inside. Part of him wondered if Hannibal would tolerate having all his dogs here. He pushed the thought away as he hung his coat. Everything in Hannibal's house was always impeccable, but his was always covered in a fine layer of dog hair. It was always in his clothes no matter how much he washed them, but he had become used to it over the years. He doubted Hannibal, ever careful, controlled, neat Hannibal would tolerate so many dogs and all their hair. But maybe Hannibal would surprise him. 

He made his way into the kitchen as Hannibal emerged from his bedroom, his suit jacket already hung up. Hannibal rolled up his sleeves and Will couldn't help but think of another time his sleeves were rolled up, his hands busy. Seeing Hannibal with his hand buried in someone else's abdomen, his sleeves rolled up and his normally carefully held in place hair falling across his face, was an erotic sight. Far more erotic than it had any right to be. He pulled himself from the memory as Hannibal pulled a nearly completed dish from the fridge. Hannibal moved with ease as he placed it in the oven which had been preheating, setting the timer. Will watched as he moved through the kitchen with the ease of someone who had commanded the space for years.

He thought back to the first meal he and Hannibal ever shared, the day he came to Hannibal's office over lunch. He knew now, that Ormand's murder had been committed by the Ripper and he also knew that Hannibal was the Ripper. He assumed, though he had never asked, that the kidney in that first meal they shared was not, in fact, from a lamb and rather from Ormand herself. Whatever exotic meal Hannibal had prepared for them this night also had meat and he couldn't help but wonder what, or rather who, was their meal tonight. 

It should bother him. It was cannibalism after all. But after everything, after he had crawled so far into Hannibal Lecter's mind, he knew what the meal's meant. It was an act of dominance that once stemmed from an act of survival. It was dominance over people he saw as pigs, it was dominance over those who came to his table, who ate what he provided. Unless it was Will. He could see it, so clearly as though Hannibal had written it on his forehead, that he didn't want that dominance over Will, he was providing. And that was endearing enough for Will to forget exactly what was being provided. 

He took the glass of wine that Hannibal offered, leaning against the counter to watch the other work. He couldn't help but recognize the wine label, having bought the bottle for Hannibal previously. He still remembered that night, the way Hannibal had watched him every moment during dinner, the way he had stayed close to him after, the sound of his voice when he told him how he saw Will.

_I just see you._

Neither had to say anything, both of them having already made their way under the other's skin so much that words were almost superfluous. He knew he had found his way so close to Hannibal, he didn't realize that Hannibal had found his way so close to him. Until now. 

The other walked from the kitchen and Will followed, unbidden. Dinner would still take time to cook. Will followed him to his study, marveling idly at the sheer number of books around the room. They were all first editions, some not even in English. His fingers danced over the spines. He had seen every book in Hannibal's office, the other having let him roam where he wanted, but this was new. He read the one's he could, just barely able to glean the titles that were in French. His French was rusty and it was Cajun French more than anything else. It didn't help him when he heard someone else speaking French in public as he learned in Italy. 

Hannibal settled onto the couch in the room and Will could hear him begin to shuffle papers around. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the other start to trace his pencil over the page that rested atop a sketchbook. Will smiled fondly to himself as he turned back to the books. Eventually, he grew bored of looking at titles he couldn't read. Hannibal had started a fire in the room before he began drawing and Will walked over to the mantle, examining its contents and enjoying the heat for a moment. He then walked closer to Hannibal. The other's amber eyes glanced up to him, his attention wholly on Will even with the drawing in front of him. Will didn't say anything as he walked around him, his eyes dropping to the drawing. 

"Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus," Hannibal said. Will had seen the drawing before, briefly, but he knew already that the faces were wrong. He could see the distinct curve of Hannibal's face, the jut of his cheekbones, the strength of his jaw. He could also see his own face, his curls splayed across his forehead. "Whenever he's mentioned, Patroclus seems to be defined by his empathy."

"He became Achilles on a field of war," Will said, unable to make his voice much louder than a murmur. "He died for him there wearing his armor."

"Hiding and revealing identity is a common theme in Greek epics." Will swallowed thickly, his emotions making his throat tighten. "Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone." Will sucked in a breath, his chest beginning to burn. It was slow at first, but it heated up as though someone was carving into his chest. "It took divine intervention to bring them down."

He swallowed his emotions which were threatening to overcome him as he set down his glass next to Hannibal's. The other didn't fight as he pulled the sketchbook and pencil from his fingers, depositing them on the other end of the couch. His chest finally stopped burning, the bittersweet pain ebbing, as he bent pressing his lips to Hannibal's. Hannibal reached for him, pulling him with grace into his lap, their lips still connected. He should feel awkward in the position he was in, his legs stretched along the couch and his back against the armrest, but he was rather comfortable. One of Hannibal's hands wrapped around his neck and the other gripped his hip. Will cupped the other's face between his hands, holding him close. It wasn't as though Hannibal could go anywhere, he was already pinned under Will's body. He shifted in the other's lap, angling himself so he was closer. Hannibal's hand tightened on his hip. 

He didn't know how long they were there sharing slow, languid kisses until the oven beeped, bringing them back to reality. Hannibal broke away, resting his head on Will's shoulder for a moment. Will sighed before they began to move, the moment on the couch broken.

* * *

**7:45 PM**

Jack rifled through the notes, making certain that he read each page thoroughly. The notes on the Ripper case were nothing new to him, almost all of them had been trails he had followed previously. Each led to a maddening dead end. He sighed, flipping the page to the last set of notes before they ended before Miriam had been taken by the Ripper. He hadn't bothered to go home yet. Bella wouldn't be there, away on a work trip. He had protested her going, but ultimately it was a fight he lost. She was capable of taking care of herself and she would go across the world to prove it. So, Jack stayed in the office reading through Miriam's notes, hearing three voices in an argument down the hall. He couldn't help the small smile that came to his face.

He read through the last entry when his eyes seemed to stutter over the page. He stood, walking swiftly down the hall to where three voices had become two. He burst into the lab, making Price and Zeller jump from their chairs. Both looked over at him, their faces equal mixtures of panic and curiosity.

"Where's Beverly?" He demanded.

"Went out for food. We're getting it from that Chinese place you love, already put in the order for your dinner too." Zeller answered. 

"W-" His brain caught up to the rest of the sentence before he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thank you." He said finally. "When she gets back, the three of you come to my office. I have something I need to share with you." He tapped Miriam's notebook anxiously. "I think I know the lead Miriam Lass was chasing down."

* * *

**8:00 PM**

He couldn't stop himself from watching Will's every movement throughout dinner. Every time he lifted a fork to his lips, Hannibal's eyes followed. He couldn't stop himself, he couldn't see enough. Will had yet again worn a tighter fitting shirt that stretched over his body. Hannibal could see every flex of his muscle as he moved and he had already felt his muscles shift under his hands earlier in the night. All things considered, their earlier activities were rather chaste. Especially given who Will was to him. 

He had looked at his chest that night after Will had left, seeing the words that had settled into his skin. It was still a little red around the edges, but he knew why it was those words that had stated who Will was to him.

_Just you._

Hannibal had spent his life putting up masks or pretending to be someone he wasn't. He had denied his urges for Mischa and forgave her when she died. And then he had denied them again around his aunt and uncle, only to strike out on his own a couple of years later. It was then that he finally let himself embrace the urges. He still wore a mask, never truly able to share every part of himself with another, but he wasn't denying himself so that stopped mattering. It wasn't until Will that he truly realized how alone he had been. Will was just as alone as he. He had once debated taking a much more abrasive route to make Will realize who he was, what was inside him. But this route had worked incredibly well. It left a lot in Will's hands, making Hannibal itch with his lack of control, but it had worked out much nicer than he had thought. Letting Will come to him, letting Will see himself and him, was by far much more satisfactory. 

And Will seemed content, more content than he had ever seen him. Will had left his glasses in his car, a notion not lost on Hannibal. He wasn't hiding from him anymore, wasn't hiding when he was around Hannibal anymore. 

Will watched him as much as he watched Will. Their eyes were constantly meeting throughout the meal and Hannibal could see something simmering under the surface. He couldn't describe how much that excited him. 

Will looked over the edge of his wine glass at Hannibal and he couldn't understand why his throat suddenly felt incredibly dry.

Will followed him into the kitchen after they finished their dinner. Like before, he found himself working next to Will while they cleaned. Their movements were synced as Will lifted one dish from the water, meaning to put it on the wrack but rather depositing it into Hannibal's hands. He dried each dish and put it in its proper place, straightening them in their cabinets. He put the last dish away only to turn around to find Will staring at him. He dropped the towel from his hands neatly onto the edge of the sink, his eyes focused completely on Hannibal. He shut the cabinet softly as Will neared him. 

"Should I expect that I be called away to find a body?" Will asked, his voice low.

Hannibal only hummed in response. 

"You need to be more careful. Jack is on your trail."

"I am always careful."

It was Will's turn to hum. He stepped forward, his movements slow. "I suppose it would be easier with someone to help."

"I suppose."

Will stalked forward more and Hannibal felt his heart pound in his chest. His pulse rarely ever hitched, not when he was hunting and not when he appeared close to being caught. His pulse was steady when he had taken Miriam Lass. It was steady when Will had stated he was the Ripper. But now, with the other stalking forward as though Hannibal was the one being hunted, his pulse began to speed. 

Will reached forward in a swift movement and grabbed his tie, freeing it from its confines and pulling Hannibal with it. He should have been more worried about Will's ability to manhandle him as easily as he could, but it was too exciting to cause worry. He memorized everything about Will that he could now that they were up close. The curls in his hair, the stubble around his jaw, the light of his ocean colored eyes. He had initially craved Will for his mind. He now realized he craved his body just as much. Will was so close he could feel the other's breath on his cheek, but neither moved closer. Will's eyes stared into his, and he was entranced. 

"We show the world the best in ourselves," He began, his voice a whisper. "But I don't want the best right now." Will's breath hitched. "I don't want something the world sees." He moved closer, feeling Will's hand still around his tie. "Show me your demons, Will."

* * *

**8:30 PM**

"This is Miriam's notebook." He showed it to Beverly, Price, and Zeller who were currently using his desk as a table. The food was spread out between them though Jack couldn't force himself to eat much. He had waited until the other three had eaten a bit before he addressed the subject on his mind. He opened the book once more, reading the last entry aloud. 

_I've been following up on the doctor's that are listed within each of the Ripper victim's medical histories. Most have nothing useful to say. Jeremy Olmstead, the most recent Ripper victim, was previously seen in the ER for an arrow wound to his thigh. When I asked the other doctors I had previously spoke with about Jeremy Olmstead, most didn't have much to say. When I brought up the doctor who saw him in the ER, however, they were much more talkative. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was the surgeon who treated Olmstead. Many stated he was a gifted surgeon and quite intelligent. They describe him as calm and collected with an outwardly cool demeanor and in control of his environment. I am meeting with Dr. Lecter tomorrow to discuss Olmstead._

He put the notebook down. "That was dated the day before Miriam went missing."

Beverly shrugged. "All the doctors were looked at previously. And if it was Lecter, surely Will would have said something by now."

Jack sighed. "Do you remember how Hannibal was when Will vanished?"

"Tense," Zeller said.

"The closest to agitation I think he's every allowed himself to be in public." Price said.

"Worried," Beverly said, again with a shrug. "Why would he be worried if he was the Ripper?"

"Unless he was worried because Will knows he's the Ripper," Jack said softly. 

"Why would Will protect him?" Beverly asked. "This is all circumstantial. Not enough for a warrant to search Hannibal's place." She set down her food. "There are other places the Ripper could have found her. For all we know, she left Hannibal's office alive and the Ripper caught her outside."

Jack sighed. The points were all valid, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was onto something. 

Was Hannibal Lecter the Chesapeake Ripper?

He couldn't think on his quandary for long before Beverly interrupted his thoughts. "We got a body."


	14. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

**8:30 PM**

Will lunged forward, closing what little distance was between him and Hannibal and pushing Hannibal back against the counter. His arms wrapped around Hannibal, letting go of his tie in favor of pulling the other closer. Hannibal mirrored him pulling him closer with force as though he could meld their bodies together. One of his hands moved to the back of Hannibal's neck, his fingers twisting in his hair. Hannibal kissed him with the same vigor Will put into the kiss, which was more teeth and tongue than lips. Hannibal pushed against him and suddenly they were moving. He wasn't certain who was leading or if they were so lost in each other that their bodies were moving of their own accord. They pushed their way into Hannibal's bedroom, the door shutting loudly before Will pushed Hannibal against it once again. 

He could still taste the wine on Hannibal's tongue and it only made him want more. Hannibal's hands were everywhere, his hair, his clothes, his face. He had untucked Will's shirt, his fingers dancing over the skin of his back. Will moved from Hannibal's lips, first letting his graze his cheek, then kissing down his chin and to his neck. Hannibal let out a sigh as Will's teeth nipped him lightly. He pulled back only for a moment to push his fingers between the buttons of Hannibal's shirt and tear it open. If it were anyone else, Hannibal might kill him for that, but the only look in his eyes was a lustful one. Will immediately returned to his task, letting his lips, teeth, and tongue move over Hannibal's flesh, tasting him. His hands moved to the hair on the other's chest, only to stop when he noticed the writing over his heart. Will blinked at the words which had so recently fallen from his lips. Hannibal's chest was heaving under his hands, his breathing coming heavily. Will pulled his hands away and up to his shirt. Hannibal, ever the one for reciprocity, gently moved his hands aside before tearing his shirt open, the buttons falling somewhere with Hannibal's. 

He knew the words written over his own heart as he felt them appear just as Hannibal said them. But Hannibal's eyes were glued to his chest. His fingers reached up, dancing over the words. 

He stared for a long moment before pulling Will back again, their lips meeting even more frenzied than before. He wasn't even completely certain how the rest of their clothes came off, but he felt himself shiver the moment Hannibal's bare skin touched his. He was achingly hard, and it seemed Hannibal was as well judging by the length pressed against his thigh. Their bodies ground together as Hannibal's hands explored everywhere he could reach. They moved in sync toward the bed with Will turning them so he could push Hannibal, rather easily, onto it. He couldn't help but notice that the sheets were the same color as his eyes. But something much more important trapped his attention. 

Hannibal was beautiful.

He had been with men and women before, but never someone like Hannibal. Never someone soft and hard in all the right places. Never someone who looked like a coiled predator that could so easily strike but didn't. He didn't because it was Will. And that was all the more exciting. Hannibal moved up the bed, situating himself with a sly look in his eyes. Will followed, feeling much like a predator himself before Hannibal grabbed him, bringing their bodies closer. Will settled his weight over Hannibal who pulled him closer with a snarl. And their lips met again. He knew Hannibal had a slight oral fixation, he just never realized how much until the man couldn't keep his lips from doing something on Will's body. He was kissing him, his cheeks, or the pulse point on his neck, or sucking into the skin on his shoulder. 

Will took his time familiarizing himself with Hannibal's body. He started by running his hands through Hannibal's hair, feeling its softness and watching with some amusement as it fell over his forehead. His hand trailed downward, finding his jaw. He let his fingers dance over the stubble before tracing his cheekbones. Hannibal's hands were running over his back before he sunk his teeth into the skin where Will's neck met his chest. He couldn't stop the moan that fell from his lips as his hands trailed down to Hannibal's shoulders, and then his arms, feeling every muscle. Hannibal pressed against his back between his shoulder blades, his mouth still latched onto the same spot. Will could hear him sucking into his skin with fervor. His hands continued their trail down Hannibal's body until they reached his hips. Hannibal finally let him go and Will recaptured his mouth once more before following the trail his hands just forged. His lips, teeth, and tongue moved down Hannibal's body, nipping into the skin of his stomach and licking over the jut of his hips. He could feel every muscle flexing under his skin as Will continued toward his intended target. He ran his tongue over the other's pelvis before looking up at Hannibal with a grin.

Hannibal's amber eyes were pinned on him, blown wide with lust. His kiss-swollen lips were parted as he breathed, watching Will's every movement. 

Will settled himself between Hannibal's legs, keeping his eyes locked with the other's as he licked a stripe up Hannibal's shaft. The other sucked in a breath at the motion. Will repeated, watching the way Hannibal twitched before he ran his tongue over the head of the other's cock. Will took Hannibal in his mouth then, hollowing his cheeks and letting his tongue roam as he did. Hannibal sucked in a breath above him, and Will felt a hand move into his hair. He wasn't pushing further, but he wasn't letting him move away either.

Even still, Hannibal was controlled. He was going to enjoy taking him apart.

* * *

**9:15 PM**

The body was found in a freezer, placed carefully so that it looked as though he was holding his innards in his hands. It was a strange homage to Abel Gideon as he had left Frederick Chilton holding his own guts. The man's body was bent backward, his mouth open and guts held in his hands. Due to the cold, there was no way to tell if the body was left earlier that day or earlier that week. It was carefully preserved, everything perfectly in place. The Chesapeake Ripper could have left it an hour ago and they wouldn't know.

"His lungs were removed, most likely while he was still breathing," Zeller said from under a couple of layers of fabric.

Beverly shook her head. "This could have been today for all we know. The cold nearly stopped decomposition."

Jack sighed and tried again to call Will, but like his previous five tries, the call went to voicemail. "Anyone able to reach Will?" 

Beverly shrugged. "You mentioned he seemed like he had something to do on the way here. Maybe he's busy."

Jack sighed again.

* * *

**9:20 PM**

Will's mouth was torturous. He took his time, his movements slow and calculated as he bobbed his head, hollowing his cheeks around Hannibal's cock. He could feel his tongue as it roamed, and how adept it was. The only time Will released him was to run his tongue along his shaft again, all the while keeping eye contact with Hannibal. No matter the pleasure and how his body bid him to close his eyes and submit, he couldn't force himself to break eye contact. The scent of arousal is strong in the air, but mores he can smell a scent that is distinctly Will. It's earthy and wild and every bit Will. 

Will shifted his position, running his tongue over Hannibal's sack in a movement that forced a moan from his throat. He could see the smirk in Will's eyes even if he couldn't see his mouth. The other shifted, nipping into the flesh on Hannibal's thigh. His head finally fell back, unable to stop himself as pleasure began building in his belly. Will's tongue continued its torturous movements as he alternated between focusing on Hannibal's achingly hard cock and nipping into the skin of his legs. Will ran his tongue over his cock in an agonizingly slow movement before his teeth sunk into his thigh once again. He could feel the blood pool in the area as Will sucked into his skin. His fingers dug into his thigh and Hannibal moaned into the otherwise silent room. Will let go and Hannibal could see the mark that would likely bruise, much like the one he had sucked onto Will's neck. 

While he had a moment, he reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled a bottle free. He dropped it onto the bed, knowing it would be used likely more than once that night. Will eyed the bottle for a moment before he pulled at one of Hannibal's legs, raising it. For anyone else, he wouldn't submit so easily. But he would never deny Will. 

Will's tongue, still torturous, flicked out teasingly. Hannibal shivered. Will continued, first gentle, teasing movements and then licking in earnest at his rim. It was only a moment later that Will flipped him, able to manhandle him easily. Will attacked in earnest this time, eliciting moans from him that he couldn't control. His mind idly reminded him that Will had remained untouched the whole time and likely the other wanted it that way. He pulled away for a moment before he returned to his task, a wet digit pressing into him. Will was slow and careful with his movements, but Hannibal wished he would be rougher. He wasn't lying when he said he wanted Will to show him his demons. 

He idly heard Will's phone ring yet again, but Will either didn't notice or didn't care as he pressed into him, tongue and finger entering him. Hannibal had never felt as safe and yet vulnerable as he felt right now. He was hardly one to relinquish control, normally he was in control of all things including in the bedroom. His trysts over the years had always been his to command. To dominate. He threw that out the window the second Will kissed him. 

The other pressed another digit into him and he found himself moving, rocking back against fingers and tongue, demanding more. The pleasure in his belly grew as Will obliged, licking into him and beginning to move his fingers in earnest. He could feel himself stretching as Will moved, scissoring his fingers. Will added a third digit, moving more now as he removed his mouth and began kissing and licking up Hannibal's back. Will bit into the skin on his shoulder as he continued to press into him before Hannibal turned, their mouths meeting again. Will pulled away, taking his fingers with him and Hannibal rolled over.

He could not have drawn a more beautiful sight than Will, his lips red and swollen from Hannibal's cock, his skin flushed with arousal, and his cock standing at attention, untouched and waiting for Hannibal. Will grabbed the lube from the bed and drizzled a significant amount onto his cock. But it was Hannibal's hand that spread it. Will's eyes fluttered shut at the touch and the movements pulled sweet moans from his mouth. He pulled his hand away when Will was slicked up and shifted his legs so they were resting around the other's hips. 

Will shifted, first teasing Hannibal once again and then pressing into him with something significantly larger than his fingers. He knew he was well endowed, but Will was too. He pushed in until he could go no further. His eyes fluttered shut once more as he leaned his body down, pressing against Hannibal. He took him greedily wrapping his arms and legs around him. Will grabbed him with the fervor he had been missing before, grasping him until he was locked in his arms. Their lips slotted together once again as Will began to move, shifting himself in and out of Hannibal. 

God, it was ecstasy. 

He shifted his hips to meet every movement and Will began to thrust harder. His body jerked with the movement as Will's kisses became more demanding. He kissed back with the same demand, his need stirring in his gut. And he _needed_. He could feel every movement of Will's muscles as he thrust into Hannibal. Their moans and the sound of slapping of skin on skin filled the room as Hannibal arched to meet him, digging his nails into Will's back. 

The phone rang again and he couldn't stop the snarl that tore from his throat. But the sound had quite the effect on Will who shivered the moment he heard it and attacked Hannibal again. Their hands were everywhere, sometimes meeting each other's and sometimes running over sensitive flesh and making either of them shiver. Will's thrust became more demanding as he found Hannibal's prostate and stimulated it relentlessly. They were moaning enough to rival a porn star but whatever cares Hannibal might have had left with his need for control. 

They rolled until Hannibal was straddling Will's hips. He pulled himself upward and let his body fall, hearing Will's moans with every movement. The other's thrusts met him in near bruising movements. Will buried his face in Hannibal's neck, biting and sucking another mark onto his skin. Hannibal pulled the other's shoulder closer, biting and sucking into the flesh there. They would be covered in bruises at this rate and he found he didn't mind. His possessiveness soared seeing the marks he left in Will, claiming him, and he couldn't help but feel just as claimed with marks Will left in him. 

His pleasure began to spread, moving through him into his fingers and toes and pushing moans from his throat. Will's moans were near sinful before their mouths found each other again and demanded everything. Breath, moans. It was all shared between them as he found himself pushing closer and closer to the edge with every movement. Will's grip on him tightened, his nails digging into the skin on his shoulder blades. 

Below him, Will's body tensed, nearing his own orgasm. Whatever restraint was in him left as he rode the other in earnest. His body shuddered as his orgasm rocked through him, painting their stomachs white. At the same time, he felt Will tense and with a final thrust, he fell over the edge too. Will pressed into him, his head falling back and his mouth open in a silent moan that would likely be a scream if he could make a sound. 

Hannibal collapsed against Will, both of them breathing hard. Will pulled his softening length from him but neither moved beyond that. 

Eventually, both remembered they would need to clean themselves up. Hannibal pulled Will from the bed and to his bathroom.

* * *

Will let Hannibal pull him into the bathroom, seeing the sly look on the other's face. He knew his time of being in control was done, but he didn't care. Hannibal had surrendered control him willingly, and that mattered more than a million words. 

Hannibal started a bath, first feeling the water and then filling the tub. Something musky filled the air as bubbles began to form. He reached for Will again, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to fingers. Will stepped forward, pulling Hannibal closer and pressing their lips together. Hannibal practically purred against him and something within him purred along with him. They were still locked in a kiss when Hannibal pulled him into the bath. He sank into the warm water, feeling Hannibal press against him. He leaned on the edge of the tub, his head resting on the edge, and Hannibal's body pressed against his. 

Their hands moved lazily, cleaning off the remnants of their orgasms from the other but their lips never left each other's. The chaste movements soon became dirtier as Hannibal's kisses became more demanding. He felt the blood flow to his cock again. He didn't have a refractory period this short since he was a teenager. But he was already beginning to harden again, and Hannibal along with him. Hannibal sucked the water from his shoulder and Will let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan. The darkness within him was purring louder now, a monster that recognized something like it. Hannibal's monster was stirring if his grip on Will's hip was any indicator. He would have bruises there in the morning. 

Once Hannibal seemed content with their cleanliness, he let the tub drain, pulling himself and Will from the water. He wasn't certain Hannibal would let them dry off considering he was fully aroused once again, but he did. Once they were dry, he thought maybe Hannibal would take him there in the bathroom, but instead the other grabbed him, lifting him with ease. Will wrapped his legs around Hannibal's waist, their lips finding the other's again. Hannibal dropped him rather unceremoniously onto the bed. He barely had time to scramble further onto it before Hannibal was stalking him up the bed. 

Their eyes met before Hannibal let out a low growl and Will shivered. The sound went right to his already hard cock and he ached. Hannibal attacked him, showing none of the restraint he had earlier. His mouth was everywhere. His nails dug into flesh and Will arched into him. He wanted more. He needed more. 

Hannibal's mouth wrapped around his cock, his head bobbing as he sucked. His tongue was everywhere. Will couldn't stop himself from shaking with desire as the other took what he wanted without bothering with restraint. He let go for long enough to slick up his fingers before his mouth was around him once again. The heat of his mouth coupled with the pressure against his rim was enough to push moans from his throat. Hannibal didn't seem to care, or maybe he wanted more. He pushed into him, first one digit and then two. His mouth left his cock to join his fingers and the movements were obscene. Hannibal fucked him with fingers and tongue and Will was practically writhing above him. 

Hannibal found his prostate easily while Will had purposely avoided Hannibal's to draw out the pleasure. Hannibal, on the other hand, seemed to want to bring Will to the brink to see how many times he could push him over the edge. He pressed against it relentlessly, adding a third digit while his tongue continued its ministrations. 

When Hannibal pulled from him, leaving him feeling empty until he heard the sounds of lube once again. He didn't even have the chance Hannibal had before he was pushing into him. Hannibal moved slowly at first, pushing into him until he was buried to the hilt. He gave Will only enough time to adjust before his hands wrapped around Will's thighs and he was thrusting ruthlessly. Every movement pushed another moan from Will's throat, his back arching with pleasure. 

Hannibal's head was thrown back in pleasure too as he took what he wanted. And it only made the darkness within Will churn with want. With a noise that he could only describe as a snarl, Will pulled Hannibal down, their lips crashing into a kiss that was more teeth. He captured Hannibal's bottom lip, biting. He tasted copper before Hannibal's tongue darted forward, tasting his blood on Will's tongue. One of Hannibal's hands gripped his hip while the other fisted in his hair, pulling and forcing Will's mouth open with the moan that tore from his throat. Hannibal swallowed it as he kept his brutal pace. Will's hands grabbed for purchase on his back, digging into his shoulder blades. Hannibal sat back up, pulling Will with him until he was seated on his lap. He was further in than before and Will was shaking with pleasure. Hannibal couldn't contain his pleasure either as they pawed at each other like teenagers, grasping at anything and everything. Their mouths sucked marks into each other once more.

Hannibal's fingers dug into his hip and the other fisted again in his hair as he thrust up into him. Will grasped Hannibal's hair in turn, his other hand digging half-moons into Hannibal's back. He met every thrust with the same intensity behind Hannibal's movements. 

"Hannibal," He breathed, unable to make his voice any louder.

"Will," Hannibal's voice was thick and deep, his face buried in Will's neck. 

His pleasure curled within him, the monster under his skin purring at the monster that rose to meet it. Hannibal's hand left his hip and pressed over his heart. Will shifted his hands, gripping Hannibal's hair with his opposite hand and mirror him, pressing his hand over the words that sat just above his heart. 

"You're mine," Hannibal snarled against him, shifting back so their eyes could meet. 

Will leaned forward, pressing their lips together until Hannibal's thrust pulled moans from him once again which Hannibal swallowed greedily.

"And you're mine," He whispered finally, his possessive side flaring. 

Hannibal wrapped his arms around him, pressing them close. Will gripped him, his hands pressed into the skin of the other's back. 

His pleasure built in his gut until he couldn't hold back anymore.

"Hannibal."

"Will."

He came with a silent scream, his back arching and pressing him against Hannibal. Hannibal wasn't far behind, one more thrust and he too came again.

Hannibal lied him down gently and pulled his softening length from him. He pulled Hannibal's mouth to his enjoying the now soft, tender kisses between them. Hannibal didn't insist on bathing them in the tub once again as they cleaned up, but he did feel the need to touch him. Everything was accompanied by a caress. Their mouths found each other's again as they returned once more to the bedroom. Hannibal lied next to him, both of them on their sides. They shared tender kisses and exploring hands. He enjoyed the look of Hannibal's hair untamed across his forehead. 

Will draped his leg over Hannibal's pressing them together as the night finally settled into him. He had never felt more seen, more known, more relaxed, more comfortable than he did then in Hannibal's arms. 

He didn't know when he had fallen asleep, he only knew it was peacefully dreamless.

* * *

**7:30 AM**

Hannibal woke to find Will still in his arms. The other look peaceful, younger as he slept. Will's body was pressed against him, arms wrapped around him as though he were clinging to him. He carded his fingers through the other's hair softly, feeling every curl as it ran through his fingers. Will was covered in bruises and he doubted he looked any better, but it made him and the possessive beast within him hum with satisfaction. Will shifted in his arms, his eyes not opening but a soft hum rumbling through his body.

"I can feel you staring," Will muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

"I always stare at art."

Will buried his face in Hannibal's chest but he could see the smile on his lips. He continued carding his hand through the other's hair. He would be content to spend the day like this. He was grateful for the weekend, as he didn't need to work. Will might, but for now, they were curled together. Will's hand that was resting against his back shifted until he cupped the back of Hannibal's neck. He shifted again, their lips meeting in a lazy kiss. He sighed into the kiss, keeping his hand firmly in Will's hair. 

Their kisses stayed lazy as they pressed together, bodies fitting together like they were made for each other. He pulled at Will's lip playfully, still feeling a sting on his own. Will smiled as they kissed humming again from deep in his chest. They rolled so Will was under him. He couldn't help the sigh that escaped into his kiss at having Will so close.

The doorbell rang through the house and Hannibal couldn't stop the growl in his throat as though he were an animal protecting his mate. Will's head turned toward the bedroom door and he sighed. 

Hannibal dropped his head against Will's shoulder. "The last time someone rang my door this early it was a census taker."

"Did you eat him?"

Hannibal hummed as he kissed Will again. "I had his liver."

Will laughed as Hannibal rolled off him and stood from the bed. He moved to the drawer he kept his pajamas in, pulling on a pair of pants and a sweater over it. He could feel every bruise on his body, a little sore from the previous night. Will watched him from the bed, his brilliant eyes tracing over his body. He almost thought Will wanted to eat him alive. 

He padded to the front door, opening it to find Jack on the other side.

"Morning, Dr. Lecter."

"Good morning, Jack."

The other stepped into his house and Hannibal couldn't help but stare at him. He let the door slip from his fingers and shut with a click. Jack looked around his house, examining the foyer before he stepped further inward toward his study and bedroom. Hannibal almost wanted him to continue exploring to find Will, bruised and blissed in his bed. Jack didn't go that far though, turning to face Hannibal.

"Where were you last night, Dr. Lecter?"

Hannibal refrained from raising an eyebrow. "I was here."

"All night?" Jack asked.

"All night," Hannibal answered. 

"Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts?"

"I can." Will's voice rang out through the house. Hannibal's eyes immediately searched for him, finding him standing in the door of his bedroom wearing a pair of Hannibal's pajama pants. 

His torso was covered in bruises, especially right at the base of his neck, but Will didn't bother covering them. Hannibal's possessiveness soared happily at seeing Will in the daylight, marked by Hannibal as his. Every muscle in his body was tense and his hair was tousled from sleep and sex. The words on his chest stood out in the morning light as though they were daring Jack to comment. Hannibal couldn't help but see a god.

His god.

Jack's mouth opened then closed then opened once more. Will shoved his hands in the pockets of the pajamas, watching him.

"All night?" He asked finally.

"All night," Will repeated a content hum in his voice. 

Hannibal couldn't help but smile fondly at him before Jack cleared his throat.

"My mistake then." He left the house in a rush. 

Hannibal locked the door behind him, feeling Will approach. He turned, seeing the way the shadows danced over his body, the bruises that stood out against his skin, the way his muscles flexed then relaxed as his eyes fell on Hannibal.

"Breakfast?"


	15. In Between

Beverly looked examined the body in front of her. The body had an endless supply of strange sprouting from it. It had been perfectly arranged in the freezer and everything within it preserved. They had to wait until it was moved to Quantico to fully examine it, and Beverly hated every moment. The body had been positioned to show the innards in the man's hands, with just enough open to see that the lungs were removed. But what they didn't see was the flowers tucked carefully behind the heart. They were frozen as well, preserved until the heart was removed to reveal them. Why the Ripper took the lungs and not the heart, she didn't know.

She explained her various findings to Will, who seemed uncharacteristically different. He had seemed off since his return, which wasn't particularly odd as he was always a little off. But now his strangeness was different. He was quieter, more reserved. He watched more, his eyes darting over everything as if he were waiting for something horrible to happen. Beverly explained what she, Price, and Zeller had found on the body while Will stared at them, keen eyes watching every movement. She lied the flowers onto the table next to the body and watched as Will's eyes caught them immediately. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at them.

"This one is a red tulip," She pointed to one of the flowers. "And this one is a hydrangea."

She could have sworn Will rolled his eyes. "They were behind the heart?"

"Yes."

"Red tulips are associated with 'true love.'" Zeller explained. "And hydrangeas symbolize 'heartfelt relationships and unity.'"

Will nodded slightly, stepping away from the body. He knew something, Beverly could see it, but for whatever reason, he wasn't sharing. Jack watched him critically as though the Will that was standing in front of them wasn't the real Will. There were so many pieces that were just waiting to be picked up, but she couldn't see how they connected. The conversation, as one-sided as it was, ended awkwardly with Will leaving the room rather abruptly. Jack watched him go until he was out of earshot and then turned back to Beverly, Price, and Zeller.

"Did Will seem off to you?" Beverly asked before anyone else could.

"No more than normal." Price said, peering over the body. 

She nodded, pulling off her gloves and shooting them into the trashcan. The elastic snapped in the silence of the morgue but no one seemed to notice. Jack was still staring at the space Will had once occupied and Price and Zeller were having a silent conversation while moving in sync around the morgue. She sighed and pulled off her coat, hanging it on the door and following Will from the room. Something was going on, but it seemed as though everyone was holding their cards tightly to their chests, which was unusual. 

Jack followed her from the room, his presence making him known before he said anything. Beverly followed him into his office, knowing her presence was requested without the other saying a word. Jack shut the door behind them and then moved to his desk, his posture tense. He sat, rubbing a hand over his chin while still staring at something in the middle distance. Beverly took a chair across the desk and waited for what felt like an eternity.

"You said Will seemed off," Jack began, still staring at nothing. "What did you notice?"

Beverly shrugged. "He's just quieter. Tense. Like he's waiting for something bad to happen."

"Or like he knows someone is about to be caught," Jack muttered to himself.

"What do you mean?" Beverly asked. Then the realization clicked. "You're not still thinking that Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper?" Jack didn't answer. She shook her head, feeling exasperated. "You said he had an alibi." Her voice was more accusing than she meant it to be. "Since we can't determine the time of death it could have happened at any time and you said Hannibal had an alibi for the night we found the body." She explained, trying to keep her voice even. "Unless he can be in two places at once, I don't see how Hannibal is the Ripper."

"His alibi," Jack said, his eyes unfocused. Beverly wanted to huff. Of all the things that she said, that was what he clung to. "Will is his alibi." Beverly raised an eyebrow and Jack continued. "I went to Lecter the morning after we found the body. You know we couldn't get ahold of Will," Beverly nodded even though he wasn't waiting for her to give an affirmation. "I went to Lecter's to see if he had an alibi and I found Will there."

Beverly refrained from breaking out into a face splitting grin. It was tempting, but she stopped herself. Jack said nothing while she thought back to earlier that very morning as they had explained the circumstances in which they found the body. It had been discovered by a worker who was supposed to clean out the freezer the next day. He had arrived the night before to disconnect it so that it would thaw by the next morning, only to find the body inside. The man, Joseph McKinna, was another worker in the same facility who installed similar freezers in the Baltimore area. Price and Zeller had explained the finding of the body while Will stood next to Beverly, his arms crossed. She had turned to tell him something when she caught a glimpse of a dark splotch under the collar of his blue flannel shirt. She had quickly hidden her smile and tried her best to be professional and if Will noticed, he said nothing. 

"Will and Hannibal," Jack continued after a moment, unaware of Beverly's internal revelation. "I think they're soulmates."

Beverly blinked. "Soulmates?"

Jack nodded. "He had words on his chest and it didn't look like a tattoo." Jack subconsciously rubbed at his shoulder. 

"What did they say?" She couldn't stop her curiosity. 

Jack shrugged. "I didn't pay enough attention. He was covered in bruises."

 _Hickies more likely._ Beverly thought though she kept it to herself. 

"I think he's protecting Hannibal because they're soulmates."

"You say that as if Will is driven by emotion." Beverly shook her head. "And that's assuming Hannibal is the Ripper. Otherwise, you accuse an innocent man and Will will never forgive you for your vendetta against his soulmate." Beverly eyed the man carefully. "There is no proof that Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper."

"There's no proof that he isn't either."

"Everything that you have is circumstantial. I've told you before, it's possible the Ripper got to Miriam after she left Hannibal's office. Or even before. He didn't seem to recognize her. The Ripper could have snatched her on the way and then let her go to point you in the direction of Hannibal Lecter. You didn't even know about him until Alana pointed you his way. If he were the Ripper he should have been on your radar two years ago." Beverly felt like throwing her hands up. "And even if Hannibal is the Ripper, why are you so certain Will knows?"

"The way he's been acting," Jack began but Beverly was just warming up.

"That could be explained by the fact he has a soulmate. Will is a solitary person and not very social. Finding out he has a soulmate would likely be a shock. And I don't make presumptions about anyone's sexuality but it could be equally jarring that his soulmate is a man. Or even that the man is Hannibal Lecter. You've seen him, he never dresses in anything less than a suit and Will wears flannels covered in dog fur." She crossed her arms. 

Jack sighed and folded his hands in front of him. Beverly could see the thoughts flying behind his eyes and it was then that she knew he wasn't going to give up his train of thought. He was determined and wouldn't stop until he was proven right. Or very wrong. But Jack didn't say anymore and she excused herself, stepping out of his office with a sigh of her own. She let her feet carry her as she wrestled with her own thoughts.

On one hand, she could warn Will of Jack's seeming vendetta against Hannibal Lecter and let him deal with Jack. On the other, a small part of her wondered if Jack was right. 

The more she thought about it, she couldn't help but notice that Hannibal had his own brand of weird. Most of the time, she chalked it up to him being eccentric but those eccentricities could also be that of a serial killer. Hannibal had been a surgeon before he switched to psychiatry and every organ removal from the Ripper's victims had been surgical in nature. It's what made Abel Gideon such a good candidate for the Ripper as he had been a transplant surgeon before killing his wife and family. But there were Ripper killings while Gideon had been in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, so Gideon couldn't be the Ripper. That Will had insisted on since the beginning. Her mind brought back Will's mysterious disappearance. He had told Jack he was looking into a lead on the Ripper. For a while, they had wondered if Will found the Ripper. If Hannibal were the Ripper, why was he so worried when Will was gone. 

_Unless Will knew they were soulmates before he left._ Beverly's mind supplied. Maybe the reason for Will's sudden disappearance hadn't been because he was looking for the Ripper, but rather that he knew Hannibal was his soulmate. Maybe he had taken time to deal with that fact and left Hannibal wondering what would become of their relationship. It certainly explained the agitation that radiated from the doctor during the two months Will had been gone. 

Her feet carried her out to the parking lot where she found Will leaning against the building, his face stormy but his words light.

"-should be more subtle." He caught sight of Beverly. "I'll call you later."

Beverly neared him as he ended the call, shoving his phone in his pocket. 

"So," She began, her words taking on a sly tone. "You're dating a leech."

Will raised an eyebrow and Beverly tapped at her collar bone before pointing to Will. Will let out a sigh. "You saw that?"

She shrugged. "Are you happy?"

She could see the thoughts flying behind his eyes. "I'm not certain I know what happy is." He said after a moment. "But this is likely the closest I've come."

She decided to accept that rather than parse apart Will's likely dramatic and sad past. "I'm glad." She said. "It's funny though that you and Alana both entered into relationships at the same time."

"Alana's in a relationship?" Will didn't sound surprised, but instead curious. "Must have missed that in the two months I was gone." His eyes ran over the parking lot. "Not that anyone gave me a written briefing of what I missed." Beverly laughed. "Good for her," Will said eventually. 

Beverly's internal dilemma jumped back to the forefront of her mind. 

"Will," She said after a moment as they began moving toward the door again. He turned his attention to her. "There's something I need to tell you."

* * *

Alana was beginning to realize that she _hated_ Mason Verger. In the months since she and Margot had started seeing each other, Mason had made more frequent appearances. It was to be expected, of course. Mason was Margot's twin brother, and being twins she expected they had significant places in each other's lives. But Mason's personality was abrasive. Like Margot, something was lurking under the surface, though with Margot it enticed her. It was like she was nearing a fire. With Margot, it was enough to keep her warm and comforted. With Mason, however, it was overwhelming and she knew eventually it would burn her.

Her feelings toward Mason, which had been slowly building toward hatred from the moment they met, had finally crossed the final barrier when she saw the scars on Margot's back. She hadn't needed to ask who had put them there, only making a point of claiming them for herself, kissing every one of them until her mouth found Margot's once again. 

Mason cornered her the day after she and Margot had first had sex, demanding to know how much of a role she was planning on playing in Margot's life and stating that if she only wanted money, she wouldn't have it.

Margot and Mason's father had died a few years earlier and left everything in the name of his male heir. If there wasn't a male heir, everything in the Verger inheritance would go to the Southern Baptist Church. And Margot wasn't a man. She was at the mercy of her abusive brother, and it made Alana fume. 

She debated talking to Hannibal about it. For a moment, she had worried it would be unethical to date Margot Verger, given that she was Hannibal's patient and Alana was Hannibal's friend. But there was nothing unethical about dating a patient of a colleague, though it felt vaguely dangerous as though she were toeing the line. Alana knew Hannibal wouldn't violate doctor-patient confidentiality when it came to Margot and there was nothing unethical about discussing relationships with friends. She had almost brought it up to him once, but Hannibal was seemingly out of his mind with worry over Will. It was a worry she could sympathize with, though she began to realize it might not be for the same reason.

Once she had thought that her relationship with Will could go beyond her professional curiosity. Will was fascinating in many ways, but mostly she had wanted people to leave him alone. He had always seemed like he was teetering on the edge of an abyss. Once he fell, there would be no coming back for him. It was what made Alana direct Jack to Hannibal, and by proxy Will. She knew their relationship wouldn't be doctor-patient, which is why she refrained from any chastising of Hannibal when his worry seemed to go beyond that of a doctor. She had assumed they might be something akin to friends, or as close as friends could be for Will Graham. But it seemed their relationship surpassed that. 

She had only seen Will once since he returned from wherever he had been. She had debated asking Jack to try to trace his cards to make certain he was alive, but Will had reappeared the next day and any worries she had gone out the window when he came to collect his dogs. He was reserved when he greeted Alana as though he were putting on a facade of politeness. That facade broke though, the moment he saw his dogs.

Alana's thoughts drifted from Will and Hannibal back to Margot and the nuisance that was Mason Verger. 


	16. The Living

_Will was facing himself once more, split down the middle as he had been so many times. The stag moved around him, hooves clicking on the ground. Will blinked at himself before standing and pulling the other half of himself closer. The two halves evaluated each other, beginning to circle like the stag behind them. The right half was still calm and collected and the left as manic and wild as ever. The stag continued to circle, feathers ruffling. As he watched, mirrors fell into place around them, one at a time smacking into the ground. There were a hundred Wills, each halved down the middle. The stag was in the circle with them._

_Will faced himself once more, both seeing his manic and calm side. He took a step closer and then another before each half grabbed the other's arm. They righted themselves, their bodies stitching together in the middle. It was as though he was being zipped up, his body coming together. He blinked at himself, suddenly whole once more. He wasn't calm or manic, he wasn't collected or wild. He was some odd combination of the two and it was strangely serene. He raised his hand, watching the million Wills around him moving in tandem. He raised the other, watching them repeat. The words on his chest stood out in the spotlight of his dream._

Achilles wished all Greeks would die so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to bring them down.

_He remembered the words burning their way onto his chest and the bittersweet confirmation that came with it. Hannibal was his soulmate. And seeing the words on Hannibal's chest, "Just you," had confirmed he was Hannibal's as well. He had thought about the words, the meanings of what had imprinted itself onto their chests. Will had rarely been included in something, had rarely been a part of something so intense. No one had been willing to burn the world down for him. Until Hannibal. And for Hannibal, everyone wanted something from him. They wanted a certain face, they wanted his knowledge, or they wanted the Ripper. But Will wanted Hannibal. Just Hannibal however he would give himself._

_The stag huffed and circled him once more. Blood-red tulips and bright blue hydrangeas were decorating_ _its horns. Each step was deliberate, causing a ruffle of the feathers on the stag's body. It circled him once more, before coming to a stop directly in front of him. The stag's body shifted, first becoming near humanoid with horns and coal colored skin. Then the body shifted once more until it was Hannibal standing in front of him. He was completely naked, but Hannibal didn't seem to care. His eyes caught Will's and he couldn't help but move closer. Hannibal raised his hand, pressing it to Will's cheek and he leaned into the touch._

_"Just me?" He asked, his voice echoing from the thousand other Hannibal Lecter's around him._

_"Just you," Will responded, stepping closer._

_Hannibal dropped, one knee at a time in front of him. "To be known by you is to be known by God himself."_

* * *

"Did I tell you that I met someone?"

"Did you?"

Margot repressed a smirk at Hannibal Lecter's rather reserved attitude. She had told him that she tried to kill her own brother but hadn't received any more of a reaction that when she told him she had met someone. She idly wondered if that would change when he found out who. He was a rather interesting psychiatrist with rather interesting views on the world. His reaction to her attempt to kill her brother was to try again when she could get away with it. And what a surprise that was indeed. She suspected as she had with her brother and herself, that there was something else under the surface of his calm, collected facade. Mason didn't hide his darkness, he embraced it almost cruelly. She had been experienced his darkness more than anyone else. It was what helped her tame her own darkness, to use it how she wanted and when. She assumed that whatever darkness was within Dr. Hannibal Lecter had been carefully cultivated and tamed to be exactly as he wanted it. She also assumed that he was more than capable of letting that darkness out as he saw fit.

"What do you think about soulmates?" She asked, not looking at him but rather picturing Alana somewhere behind him.

She could see her lovely, dark hair; her brilliant blue eyes, and her kind smile punctuated by crimson lipstick.

"Plato once stated that all souls once had their pair. Everyone person was once apart of two. But Zeus had feared their power and thus split them into two bodies. If that is true, we are all trying to find our other half once again." Hannibal's accented voice filled the room, but she could almost hear Alana's voice instead.

"I never thought I would have a soulmate." She said, speaking more to Alana rather than Hannibal across from her. "That being said, I think I've found mine."

"And how does that make you feel?"

She could have laughed at the stereotypical psychiatrist statement, but instead, she took time to reflect on how the idea made her feel. "Complete." She answered after a moment.

Hannibal's lips twitched but he said nothing in response.

"Do you have a soulmate?" She asked, finally refocusing on the psychiatrist in front of her.

"Yes," Hannibal answered simply.

She nodded, suddenly feeling more assured about their current topic of conversation. "You actually know the person I'm seeing." Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "Dr. Alana Bloom."

Hannibal smirked. "Good for her. And you."

Margot felt herself smile. "I am worried though." She said before she could stop herself. Hannibal waited for her to continue. "I think Mason will try to force me to choose between him and Alana." As she spoke, her arm began to ache. It was out of the sling she had been in when she initially met Dr. Lecter. She was lucky the damage to her arm wasn't worse, but now and then she could still feel an ache in her arm as though Mason's hand was still grasping her wrist. "I'm worried he'll try to kill her." The last part was spoken barely above a whisper, but she could see Hannibal's eyes harden.

"What will you do about that?" He asked. "If it comes to choosing who dies, Mason or Alana, and the knife is in your hand, which life do you take?"

She should hate that her first response was to say Mason. If it came down to it, she could kill Mason and save Alana. But it didn't bother her. It didn't affect her at all to know that if she had the choice, she would take the life of her twin over Alana's. Even if that meant taking herself with him.

* * *

Will walked up the sidewalk to Hannibal's office. There were a few cars around. None of them were Hannibal's Bentley, as he had his own parking space behind his office. Two of the cars, however, were equally a nice as the Bentley and he could have sworn for a moment he saw someone sitting in the driver's seat. But the person vanished as soon as Will saw them so he wondered if he had actually seen them at all. There was an SUV parked down the street, not far from where Will had parked his car, but it didn't appear to have moved during the day. There was snow on the sidewalk with salt over it. The air was cool and crisp to the point he could see his breath in front of his face. Technically, he had an appointment set to begin in five minutes, not that it would be ethical to see Hannibal as his psychiatrist though. He couldn't help but laugh at the thought as he reached the fence, only to find someone else exiting the building. The woman looked him over critically before offering a small smile. 

"Here for Dr. Lecter?" She asked, her voice smooth.

"Yes and no." He answered. 

Her eyes trailed over him before he saw realization dawn in their depths. "I see."

She evaluated him and he took his turn evaluating her. Much like Hannibal had known with him, he could tell with her that something was lurking under those green eyes. She studied him critically, as though he were a lab specimen.

"Have we met?" She asked eventually.

"No." He answered. 

"Margot Verger," She stuck her hand out. Will took it, feeling the cold that had settled into her gloves.

"Will Graham."

"Now we've met." She dropped his hand. "You're a friend of Alana's?" She asked. "The one with the dogs."

He felt his lips curve upward. "You must be who Alana started seeing."

"I am." She cocked her head. "Do I live up to the hype?"

Will shrugged. "No one told me anything. No hype to live up to."

Margot laughed into the cold night. "I'm not certain whether I should be offended or not."

"Not," Will answered. "I like to form my own opinions."

"Should I be worried?" She asked, her eyes playful.

"Do you plan to hurt Alana?"

"No."

"Then you shouldn't be worried." He stepped around her, moving toward the door. "If you'll excuse me." He could see amusement in her eyes as he passed. "Have a nice night."

He nearly made it to the door when Margot's voice called out once more. "Isn't it unethical for a psychiatrist to date his patient."

Will laughed to himself before turning back to her. "I'm not his patient."

He stepped inside before she could say any more. 

Hannibal sat at the desk in front of his fireplace, a fire crackling behind him, giving him almost a full-bodied halo. His face was dark from the lack of light, but Will could see the warmth in his eyes without it. He hung his coat over the chair and stepped through the office. Hannibal didn't speak, only brushed off the picture he was working on, his eyes glued to Will. He walked closer, enough to where he could see the drawing Hannibal was working on. 

He should have known the dangers of being soulmates with an artist as the face that was coming to life on the paper was his own. Hannibal gazed up at him, watching the way he reacted to the drawing. But it wasn't the drawing that made him react. It was Hannibal, the earnest look in his eyes as though he were pouring his heart onto the page and offering it to Will. He bent, pressing a hand against Hannibal's cheek and feeling his cheekbone press back. Their lips met in a chaste kiss before he pulled away, leaning against the desk. He wasn't certain he would tire of staring at Hannibal's cheekbones, like the rest of him, just as Hannibal never seemed to tire of staring back. 

"I could have met you at the house," Hannibal said quietly. 

He stood, discarding the drawing to press against Will, his hand pressed to Will's cheek and cupping the back of his neck. As he had in the dream, he couldn't help but lean into it.

Just as he hated eye contact, he hated touch. But it for a different reason. He had rarely ever received touches in his life. He never knew his mother, and he and his father didn't have the warmest relationship. He was certain if he thought about it, he could count the number of hugs he had received from his father on one hand. In college, it drove him to seek physical intimacy for anyone or everyone who would give it, craving touch in whatever form. But nothing would ever last and eventually, those he sought comfort in would leave, seeing him as too strange or weird to form any real relationship with. He began to collect strays then. Animals were loyal and filled with unconditional love. The feel of their fur was the only touch Will had received in years. He worried that if he was given the affection he craved, it would break him. But Hannibal.

Every touch with Hannibal set him ablaze as much as it stamped out the raging fire within. He wanted it. He needed it. And Hannibal wasn't one to withhold his own wants. Their fingers grazed often, small touches were exchanged here and there. Even in their sleep, neither could refrain from touching the other. If it were anyone but Hannibal Lecter, he might have pushed them away. But Hannibal had firmly cemented himself in Will's life.

He had gone from warring from with himself over his attraction toward Hannibal to craving him. 

"But even waiting until then would have been too long without you." Hannibal's voice was just shy of a whisper. 

Their foreheads pressed together and Will sighed.

They stood for a moment, eyes closed and pressed together. The dull ache that had been there in Hannibal's absence vanished. What had he done without Hannibal Lecter?

"I need you to be more careful," He felt himself saying into the space between them. He opened his eyes to find Hannibal staring at him, though neither moved. "Please, Hannibal." He could feel his throat tightening with emotion.

"Were you careful when you killed Rinaldo Pazzi?"

Will sighed. "Not as careful as I should have been. But it was enough. No one suspected I had anything to do with his disappearance." They were quiet for a moment. 

"Why did you kill him?"

"For you," Will could barely make himself speak louder than a whisper. "And for me." He reached up, grasping Hannibal's face between his hands while Hannibal still kept his hand pressed against Will's. "I am selfish, Hannibal." He admitted. "He was waiting for someone to come asking about you. And if they didn't he would have come here." Hannibal stayed quiet, listening, their eyes still locked together. "I debated killing you. I debated trying to imprison you." His throat felt tighter with each word. "But I couldn't. Somethings are too magnificent to cage. And you," He breathed, "I couldn't see where I would be without you." Hannibal shifted closer. "All of this," He swallowed thickly. "It means nothing without you."

He shifted himself so their lips brushed, but they weren't quite kissing.

"I love you, Hannibal."

"I love you, Will."


	17. And the Dead

For a week, Jack had eyes on Hannibal Lecter. For a week, the man went to his office and then to his house. For a week, the only people he saw were his patients, Alana Bloom, and Will Graham. For a week, if Hannibal went anywhere that wasn't the store, his office, or home; he made the hour and a half drive to Wolf Trap, Virginia, and into the waiting arms of Will. It was maddeningly ordinary. It was romantic even, watching Hannibal step up to the door of Will's house only to be flooded by dogs of all sizes with wagging tails and to wade his way through to Will. For a week, everything Jack focused on revolved around Hannibal Lecter. 

And nothing happened. The Ripper didn't leave more bodies, Hannibal didn't seem to be on the hunt, and Will didn't seem to react to Hannibal as if he were a killer. It was domestic, calm. Hannibal and Will would spend nights at each other's houses and would leave in the morning for their respective jobs.

Jack thought about the deaths of Tobias Budge and Franklyn Froideveaux and how the whole situation was wrapped up in a nice little bow. He thought about the arguments Beverly Katz had given him. Logical arguments, of course. He thought about the insane, nagging feeling that he had which told him he was missing the bigger picture. There was something else going on. He thought that Freddie Lounds could be correct. The Ripper could be Rippers. He thought about Will's reluctance to join his team. He thought about Alana pointing him in the direction of Hannibal Lecter. So many moving parts and he wondered who knew what. Was the Ripper a team of people? Will and Alana were friendly. Hannibal had been Alana's mentor. Will and Hannibal were soulmates. Alana recently entered into a relationship with one of Hannibal's patients, Margot Verger. Was the Ripper one of them? Was the Ripper all of them? Had Jack unwittingly helped the monsters?

Everyone to him was suspicious. Every movement he watched as though the next would result in a dead body. Every murder that came across his desk he couldn't help but wonder if it was the Ripper. In every person, he saw a monster under their skin. 

Who was the monster and who was the man?

* * *

The week was steadily becoming worse. On Monday, Mason confronted her after her morning ride, his eyes filled with a sadistic light. On Tuesday, a child from one of the youth groups touring the Verger slaughterhouse left crying. On Wednesday, Mason demonstrated his new breed of pigs. Screams, a woman's screams, echoed throughout the metal building, connected to their mansion, played from speakers. Margot watched as a faux body wrapped in her clothes and scented with her perfume was lifted into the air before lowered to where the snarling, squealing pigs awaited. On Thursday, Mason's eyes followed every movement Alana made, even making a point of showing her from the Verger mansion. 

By Friday, Margot knew something bad was going to happen. 

The morning started fairly normally. Margot woke to find Alana splayed across the bed, stealing most of the blankets which was perfectly fine by Margot. She tended to run hot while she slept anyway. Alana's hair was spread across the crimson pillowcase, and her breath was slow and deep indicating she was still asleep. Margot blinked, shifting in the bed to watch as the morning sun danced across Alana's face. She reached a hand up, running her fingers over Alana's forehead, nose, cheeks, lips. The words on her hips still burned a little from the previous night but it was a bittersweet burn that reminded her of Alana next to her and would continue to remind her when she left. Alana had a matching set of words on her hip as well. Margot moved the blanket slightly, revealing Alana's hip to the morning sun. 

_I want forever with you._

She barely remembered saying the words to Alana as there had been a lot said that night, but the words on her hip made Margot's heart flutter. The words on her own hip, _I'll take care of you_ , meant more than anything to her. Her life was in her brother's hands and had been since their father died. But Alana was more than willing to subvert that. And it made Margot's heart clench with emotion. 

Alana shifted in the bed, rolling toward her without opening her eyes. She shifted forward, pressing a kiss against Margot's nose without opening her eyes. 

"I can hear you thinking," She whispered. Margot lifted a hand and carded it through Alana's hair. "What about?"

"You."

Alana's eyes blinked open, sky blue illuminated by the morning light.

They lied in Margot's bed for a few more minutes before both reluctantly dragged themselves away and began readying for the day. They shared a shower, both cleaning the other yet it never escalated beyond chaste touches and the occasional lingering kiss. Both dressed after with Alana fixing her hair and putting on make-up in Margot's bathroom. She managed to sneak a kiss before Alana applied her lipstick. Mason was nowhere to be found as they maneuvered through the house. Margot walked Alana to her car, sharing a chaste kiss before she opened her door, tasting the lipstick that had been transferred to her lips. Margot stepped back as the door was shut and the car started. Alana rolled down the window and Margot's heart jumped at the smile she was offered. 

"Dinner at my house tonight?"

"I'll be there."

She watched with some reluctance as the car drove down the path and stayed there long after the dust had settled. 

She spent the rest of the morning avoiding Mason at all costs and she managed most of the day without seeing him once. Unfortunately, that didn't last.

It was around 4 o'clock that Mason finally appeared, a sinister look on his face. His hair was spiked in its normal purposefully uncontrolled way. He was wrapped in a large coat, holding a small pig against his chest. His glasses were settled firmly on his nose, barely concealing the light in his eyes. He stalked forward, one foot in front of the other on the marble floor.

"Well, Margot," He drawled, his voice echoing around the otherwise silent house. "How are you feeling this fine day?"

She swallowed, frozen in place as her brother continued to press forward. "I'm fine, Mason."

He neared, moving in a slow circle around her. She couldn't help but feel as though she were being stalked by something akin to a lion.

"And how's our dear Alana?"

"She's fine, Mason. Thank you for asking."

Mason chuckled, apparently amused by Margot's intent to distract him with niceties. "And how is your therapy coming along?" His eyes sparkled. "Is Doctor Lecter helping?" He neared her until she could feel the heat of his body even through their various layers. "Should I still be worried for my life?"

Margot could feel herself beginning to tense. Something was about to happen, something very terrible and the realization was sinking like a chill into her bones. 

"I'm worried that you're not getting everything you need," Mason drawled. "Is there something else you want from life? Something else I can give you?" His shoes echoed with every step. "Perhaps a child?" He asked slowly. "You've gotten to examine Alana closely. How's the equipment?"

Margot's mind flew. She had made a point of not talking about her plan anywhere near Mason. She had been slowly concocting the idea of somehow obtaining Mason's sperm or maybe finding someone to impregnate her. For a moment, she had thought about using Will Graham to father a child, a male heir that would give her freedom back to her. Then, she could kill Mason and she would be free and Alana would be safe. But there were a million variables that she still had yet to sort thought. Any child she had would still be in danger with Mason around. She would have to fully gestate a child without Mason's knowledge to have any chance of her child living. And that child would have to be male or any inheritance would be subverted. That was when she thought about using Mason against himself, making certain the child was his to decrease the danger. But even that was a dangerous plan in and of itself. And that wasn't even including the most difficult part of the plan. How would she ever obtain Mason's sperm?

She was surprised that Alana had been so willing to go along with her plan when she had finally grown the confidence to ask her. She knew that Alana hated Mason, but she was surprised to find that she was so calm with the prospect of Mason's death. But even then, she had been careful to avoid talking about anything like that with Mason anywhere near them. So, how had he known? Did he know? How much danger was she in now?

Mason wouldn't kill her. She knew that with everything in her. But Mason had no such certainty when it came to Alana.

_If it comes to choosing who dies, Mason or Alana, and the knife is in your hand, which life do you take?_

Hannibal's voice echoed in her mind as her heart began to pound in her chest. 

How would she kill Mason?

"I'm not so certain the good doctor is helping you," Mason said, breaking through the million thoughts running around her mind. She tensed, thinking Mason was referring to Alana. "Why don't we ask him?"

Him?

* * *

Hannibal's Fridays always ended early. Will was incredibly glad for this as he was certain he was going insane at Quantico. He could feel Jack's scrutiny on him at all times and it was maddening. He warned Hannibal often about Jack's continued suspicion, and Hannibal had told him he was certain someone was watching him. They had both made a point of keeping everything almost sickeningly domestic, hoping that Jack would give up out of sheer boredom. But between the two of them and the monsters under their skin, they were becoming tenser by the moment. 

Sometimes Will thought back to how he felt after killing Tobias Budge, the calm that had settled into his bones afterward, and the ease he'd had with Hannibal. He thought about the calm he had felt after killing Pazzi, how much better he had felt about Hannibal and himself afterward. Sometimes, he thought about the dinners he'd had at Hannibal's house and the calm the other had even as he was feeding another person to his guests. Both had killed, but never together, and with Jack's scrutiny on them at all times, it made both itch. Before Beverly had warned him about Jack's theory that Hannibal was the Ripper, a correct theory but he had never confirmed it, he had thought about what it would be like to share a hunt. He wondered what Hannibal would be like as he stalked his kill, how much different it would be with Will. But all those thoughts went out the window as Will's own suspicion about Jack came to fruition. He would not risk losing Hannibal to something so mundane as prison.

Leaving Quantico early on Friday, though, meant Jack wouldn't be following him. Maybe he had someone watching Will and Hannibal, but it wasn't Jack himself and it made some of the tension he carried with him at all times dissipate. 

He drove to Hannibal's office, not even bothering to park out front but instead driving to the back, where Hannibal's Bentley was parked. His car seemed pathetic in comparison, just as his house did when Hannibal pulled his Bentley into the driveway, but he shrugged it off. He knew Hannibal came from money, he had seen the castle the other grew up in, and did his best to stamp down his own insecurities. Will didn't come from money like Hannibal, having struggled for the majority of his life until after college. Even then, frugalness with money wasn't something he was entirely comfortable with. If he ever splurged, it was only on beds or toys for his dogs. But Hannibal hadn't grown up with the same restrictions and Will knew their views on money were different. They would have to discuss it eventually, along with a laundry list of other things, but for now, he was content to leave it lie.

He found Hannibal sitting at his desk, his pen moving over his notes as he updated them from the day's sessions. The other didn't bother looking up when Will entered, knowing who he was and every movement he made. Will hung it jacket over one of the chairs and perused the office while Hannibal finished his notes. After a moment, he heard the notebook shut with a soft thump and Will moved back through the office toward him. 

"Any sign of your avid follower today?" Hannibal asked conversationally. 

Will felt himself smile and Hannibal mirrored him when their eyes met. Will moved closer to his desk, leaning on the edge as Hannibal put down his pen. The other stood, kissing him in greeting but Will was far too wound up to let that be the end of it. Everything in him was twisted with tension and he knew Hannibal was too. He should have likely had more reservations about their current location, but he was far too gone the moment Hannibal's lips pressed against his to remember that there wasn't a bed for them to collapse into. He pressed himself into Hannibal, their bodies fitting together easily. 

He was so lost, he didn't notice the sounds of doors opening until Hannibal pulled away and his grip tightened on him all at once. He turned just slightly, seeing a man nearing from behind Hannibal. Behind him, he could hear the floor creak as someone else approached, maybe two by the way the floor creaked separately.

"Doctor Lecter," An accented voice said into the silent room. "Your presence has been requested by Mason Verger. Come with us."

Hannibal's hand fisted in his shirt while the other dropped to the desk. Will knew he was going for the scalpel that was likely right behind him. He kept his eyes on the other man. Something was said in Italian, but Will only caught a bit.

" _Take both._ "

He could feel Hannibal's muscles shift under his perfectly pressed shirt. Hannibal answered, but the words were lost on Will. He dropped his hand to Hannibal's hip. He could swear he could hear the other's thoughts as they both shifted, readying themselves as the other men neared. Hannibal's fingers tapped on his back. 

_One. Two. Three._

Everything exploded.

The man behind Hannibal moved forward to attack, but Will met him easily. Hannibal moved the other direction, slicing with the scalpel into one the other men. Will twisted his body to avoid a punch thrown his way, managing to move so he was behind the man. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the man registered where Will went only for Will to snap his neck with one swift movement. He turned to look for Hannibal who drove the scalpel into the femoral artery of one of their other attackers. Will tried to move forward, only to hear crackling. His body dropped of its own volition, the feeling of burning electricity finally catching up to the noise of the taser. Hannibal dropped next as the third man pulled the scalpel from his leg.

"He shouldn't have done that," Hannibal said as the metallic smell of blood permeated the air. The last man used the taser once more, and Hannibal's body hit the ground with a thump.

He tried to force himself to move forward, to protect Hannibal, but the last thing Will saw was Hannibal's hair against the wooden floor before burning, electrifying pain rocketed through his body once again. 


	18. Of Monsters and Men

Will started to come to hearing voices around him. His vision was dotted with black, but his awareness of his body began to fade back in. He could feel his hands tied behind his back and he was kneeling on a metal floor. He could feel the heels of his feet digging into his glutes and his shoulders straining. His hands were tied with what felt like rope, which would be easier to work with. The rope was likely hastily tied meaning it was sloppy. He blinked into the room around him, trying to comprehend his surroundings. He was placed on a metal platform with metal railings surrounding him. He could see small windows letting in likely light from the sunset. The walls were high and painted white. He could see a complex rigging that dropped from the ceiling. He could hear squealing and snorting that sounded like pigs. To his right was the pen, built like a maze with an opening in the center. He blinked again, feeling his head turn slowly until he was looking to his left. 

He had first met Alana Bloom in passing. He had thought her beautiful, kissable, and incredibly intelligent. He never would have guessed that he would be tied up in some bassackward pigpen with Alana at his side. She looked dazed as if she too had just woken from being tased. Her mascara ran down her face from uncontrolled tears. Her lipstick was partially worn off from whatever predicament she had experienced before finding herself in the same situation as Will. 

His head lolled to the center to see legs dangling not that far from him. As he watched, the shoes were removed and tossed aside with socks following soon after. Will's eyes trailed up the body, finding striped pants and a straitjacket. His eyes kept moving upward, finding Hannibal's face. He was altogether surprised and unsurprised to find that Hannibal was perfectly calm. His hair was strewn across his face, and he had blood trickling from a small cut on his eyebrow. His lips were puckered in a pout which all at once endeared him and make Will angry. He should not be as smugly calm as he was. 

He pulled himself upward, feeling his fingertips graze his shoes. He settled onto his heels, twisting his hands in the rope bindings. He watched as another man, the same one who confronted them earlier in the office, pointed a knife at Hannibal's throat. His two friends were dead, likely thinking that Hannibal would be alone. 

Will was angry. All he wanted, the one thing the monster under his skin demanded, was blood. Death. He wanted the men who tried to cage Hannibal. He wanted their lives to end at his hand. He wanted to feel the life leave their bodies. He swallowed thickly, pushing his emotions down. Emotions would do no good right. Emotions would cloud his thinking and he needed clarity.

"Don't kill him!" A voice rang out through the mostly empty room.

Alana's face twitched almost imperceptibly. He could hear footsteps walking up metal stairs as a head of wild, blond hair appeared. The hair was followed by a weaselly face with glasses and a very large, white fur coat. The man was exactly what Will would think of when he thought of a stereotypically rich, white man. He was overly lavish in everything, including the way his shoes gleamed in the evening light. 

"Carlo!" The man called again, rushing forward to push the other away.

Behind the man came Margot Verger, who Will had only met once before. He recognized her, but mostly he recognized the visceral concern and anger in her eyes at seeing Alana, tied next to Will.

"He killed Mateo," Carlo muttered, using the knife to point at Hannibal. "And he," He pointed the knife at Will, "Killed Tommaso."

Hannibal met Will's eyes, smug satisfaction in his amber depths. 

"Mason, what is this?" Margot asked, her eyes narrowing. 

"This," He gestured around, "Is how I am planning on helping you." He grinned maniacally. "Like I said, I don't feel like the good doctor is helping you. Either of them." His eyes flitted to Alana and Will suddenly felt a surge of protectiveness in his gut.

"Mason," Margot warned.

He grabbed the knife from Carlo and held it out to Margot. "Now you can rectify the situation." Margot's fingers wrapped around the knife. "Kill him. Then we'll kill him," Mason gestured to Will. "And save the best for last."

Will flicked his eyes to Margot, hoping to catch them. Her hand tightened around the handle of the knife. Will was acutely aware of the situation and everything in it. He knew the moment Margot's hand tightened around the knife, that someone would die. He knew then, that there were at least four monsters in that room, and not all of them would be leaving it alive. Will shifted his shoulders, readying himself to move when the time came. He had managed to loosen the ropes more while he fidgeted behind him. There was no one else in the room other than the four around him. He could hear every breath Alana made next to him. He could see Hannibal watching him, waiting to see what Will did. He could see Margot, who finally made eye contact with him, understanding what she needed to do. He could see Carlo step away, leaning where the metal railing curved to frame the platform. He could see Mason step away, his hands gesturing toward Hannibal for Margot.

Will and Margot moved at the same time, an unspoken agreement settling between them in the few seconds they made eye contact. Will launched himself to his feet, pulling his hands toward, tucking in his feet and jumping over his hands. He would be sore tomorrow from the jerking motion of his shoulders, but for now, he had too much adrenaline in his system to prevent him from feeling pain. Margot slashed through the air and he heard tearing of fabric as he rushed forward.

Carlo barely turned in time as Will lunged. The loosened ropes around his wrists were just enough to wrap around the other man's throat. He moved behind him, bracing himself on the railing and pulling his hands together, tightening the rope around the other's neck. He watched as Carlo struggled against him, fingers grasping at the rope on his neck. The man gasped, clawing at his throat to attempt to force air into his throat. Over his shoulder, Will watched as Hannibal moved with cat-like grace after he was freed from his straitjacket, lunging at Mason. Mason collapsed easily under Hannibal's expert hands. Will became a brick wall, impossible to move, as the other struggled against him until his clawing became weaker. Carlo heaved before his hands dropped. Will pushed him away, snapping his neck easily. Will let his body drop with a thump onto the metal walkway. 

Hannibal moved forward swiftly while Margot rushed toward Alana who was staring wide-eyed at the place Carlo's body now occupied. Hannibal undid the bindings on his wrist and the pair lunged at each other. Will found himself running his hands over everywhere he could reach, making certain the other wasn't injured any more than he could see. Hannibal's hands were similarly exploring as their lips met, conveying through kisses what words failed to express. He could hear Margot fretting over Alana and Will turned, finally breaking the kiss with Hannibal to see her finally looking at Will.

Will and Hannibal were still pressed together as Margot and Alana shared a kiss before the four addressed each other. 

A groan pulled their attention as four sets of eyes focused on Mason, in pain and unconscious on the floor. Will's eyes drifted back to Margot. 

"I won't say anything," Margot said.

"Then I won't," Will answered. "But you should deal with him."

"There's still one thing you need before he can die," Alana said finally, her blue eyes hardening. She turned to face Margot and a silent exchange passed between them. 

Margot's eyes drifted back to Hannibal and Will. "Any experience harvesting sperm?"

Will should have not been surprised when Hannibal smiled.

It was late into the night when the four of them finally went their separate ways. Will advised not advertising Mason's death until after it was certain there was a male heir. It took some careful maneuvering to return Will and Hannibal to his office where they grabbed their cars to drive to Hannibal's house. Neither bothered to comment about the SUV now outside Hannibal's office. He was partially grateful that Jack hadn't followed them. Everything they did could be counted as self-defense, but it would be just enough to bring suspicion on Hannibal. But that was another matter for another day.

Will was dead on his feet as the shuffled after Hannibal into the house. He could feel Hannibal, still tense from a denied kill, still shifting on his feet. Will kicked off his shoes, noting how Hannibal barely moved once inside, and pressed against Hannibal, pulling the other's back against his chest. He could feel the tension under his lips as he kissed Hannibal's neck. Hannibal reached up, grasping his wrists where they were pressed against his chest. 

"All I could think about was you," Hannibal whispered. "They thought they had the right to touch you."

"I'm right here, Hannibal."

The other turned in his arms, their lips pressing together harshly. The tantalized animal under Hannibal's skin was pressing against him, demanding and needing. As they pressed together physically, some part of him could see Hannibal in his mind and the monster that lurked just beneath. His own reached out, grasping for something, anything to hold onto. The monsters crashed, smoke blending with smoke. Finally, Will could feel all the worry, pain, and anger he had suppressed before. He could feel the adrenaline fading form his system to be replaced by something else. Hannibal stroke his hands over Will's back, feeling every tense muscle there. He knew what was coming. Hannibal would worship him tonight. While their bodies pressed together, lips and teeth and tongues roaming, their monsters would find solace in each other. The monsters and the men were mixed. 

They were snarling, tearing at clothes while the smoke began to take solid form. He didn't even notice when they made it to the bed as they collapsed, Hannibal making a point of covering Will's body with his. 

Will ran his hand through Hannibal's hair, feeling the soft strands under his fingers. His other hand ran over Hannibal's body, his bare back, his arms, his neck, his chin. They rutted against each other as their monsters took shape, attacking each other with animal-like fervor having the same need as the men. He was saying Hannibal's name like a prayer, whispering it every time their mouths separated. Hannibal whispered his name in turn, claiming him with teeth and tongue. Neither could be bothered to separate much to grab the lube, and Will wasn't certain he would care. He would consent to pain at Hannibal's touch. 

But Hannibal had already seen Will hurt at another's hand. He would not stand it on his own this night. The exhaustion was chased from Will's body by his growing arousal. Hannibal's monster moved with grace as it took Will's, pulling him closer with the same ease he had manhandled Mason with before. He could feel Hannibal's fingers pressing against him, pressing into him, as he had so expertly done before. But this was sloppy, needy. He would only do enough so he wouldn't hurt him, but not drag it out as they had before. Their need was too great. The needs of the monsters under the surface was too great. 

He could vaguely hear the lube bottle open while Hannibal continued attacking his mouth. He wasn't certain where their monsters found themselves, maybe at Hannibal's office, maybe in the bed they were in now, maybe some other place completely. A snarl echoed through Hannibal's body and into his mouth as he pressed forward into Will, burying himself to the hilt. 

"I need you," Hannibal whispered. 

"I'm right here."

Will could almost hear the whimper Hannibal's monster made as it buried itself against Will's. 

"Hannibal," He whispered, bringing the other's face where their eyes could meet. "I'm here." He gripped the other's chin in his hand. "Look at me." Their eyes met and for the first time, Will saw raw emotion in their depths. He saw fear, anger, frustration, and pure, terrifying love. "Don't look away."

The other thrust into him, their eyes still locked. They rolled onto their sides, Will's leg draped over Hannibal's waist while he continued to hold the other's chin. His other hand was trapped under Hannibal's body, gripping whatever he could find purchase on. Hannibal's arm was trapped under him in turn, with the other hand hooked around the back of his neck. They would lose circulation in their arms and the position would eventually be uncomfortable, but it was strikingly intimate. Their bodies moved in tandem. 

"I love you," Hannibal whispered, his nails digging into Will's neck. "You're mine, mylimasis. I won't-"

Will cut him off with a kiss before pulling back, their foreheads pressed together and eyes locked together. "I am yours, Hannibal. Only yours. And I'm not going anywhere. I am here. You are here. I have you." Their lips brushed lightly. "I love you."

The monsters twisted around each other, snarling and purring in equal measure. 

"Will."

"Hannibal."

Will came first, his orgasm making him arch against Hannibal, their bodies pressed together tightly. Hannibal came only a few seconds later, burying himself in Will's neck. His heart pounded with his orgasm, pulling Hannibal as close as the other could physically go. The monsters had a much easier time of it, twisting together until they were one purring being with two bodies.

"It's a shame," Hannibal whispered after a moment. "I had the perfect dinner planned for you."

Will laughed. He wasn't certain the last time he truly laughed, at least not like this. It was a laugh that came from deep within him, shaking his body in Hannibal's arms. He tightened his grip on Hannibal, peppering light kisses against his hair and cheek before pulling back slightly.

"I suppose we should eat." 


	19. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I think I make Hannibal too sappy but then I remember that Hannibal once folded a man into a heart and offered it to Will in canon and suddenly I realize it's not enough.

Hannibal could honestly say he never expected to find himself in the situation he was currently in. Things such as his patient's brother hanging him in a straitjacket to be eaten alive by pigs, he shrugged off. Things such as his soulmate murdering a man in front of his former mentee and her soulmate, he shrugged off. Even things such as using a cattleprod to harvest sperm — an interesting experience — he could shrug off. But sitting on his kitchen floor in his boxers eating cold food with Will next to him while they leaned against the cabinets was not an experience he could ever have predicted. He didn't have time to fully put the meal together. Will plucked whatever was edible cold out of the refrigerator and grabbed two forks. He handed one to Hannibal and with a wink, manhandled them to the floor. 

Will wore a pair of his pajama pants, the same he had worn before and seemingly claimed as his own. He seemed rather comfortable on the floor, moving his leg so Hannibal's was draped over his. There were no lights on in the kitchen, just the shine from the outside lights coming through the door. Will's hair blended into the dark but Hannibal could see well enough to watch every movement and know when Will's eyes were on him. He had expected, even with their significant lack of clothing, to find their way into the dining room to attempt civility. But he wouldn't deny Will. 

"I can't do this at my house," Will said between bites of vegetables which were meant to be served as a salad. "The dogs would eat everything before I could put it in my mouth." He offered Hannibal a slice of cucumber. "They're good dogs," He said and Hannibal could hear the smile in his voice. "But food is food." 

He could see the outline of Will's head turn as he looked toward the backyard. Hannibal knew Will was picturing his dogs, all seven of them, running through the admittedly small space. He offered another vegetable but as Hannibal turned to take it, Will's hand shot back, plopping it in his mouth playfully. 

"Rude," Hannibal whispered.

Will turned toward him, leaning in so his lips were next to Hannibal's ear. "Eat me."

Hannibal would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. But he knew he couldn't live in a world without Will in it. The only way he could was if Will left him. Maybe then he could eat him; a way to keep him close as he had done with Mischa. But after everything, he didn't know who Hannibal Lecter would be without him. He raised his free hand, pressing it against the word's on Will's chest before turning his head to capture the other's lips. 

"There is more than one way to consume someone."

Hannibal pulled away, grabbing the food and forks and putting them in their respective places. Before Will could stand, however, he opened the freezer and grabbed one of the containers. He moved to retrieve two spoons before handing one to Will and settling back into his place on the floor. Will grabbed the container from his hand, examing it as best he could in the dark. 

"You eat ice cream?" He could hear the disbelief in the other's voice.

Hannibal turned the container just slightly so it caught the light in the room. "It's gelato."

"So, Hannibal Lecter has a sweet tooth." Will set the lid aside.

"Have you not noticed?" Hannibal asked as the other held the container so he could grab a spoonful.

"I just assumed you would prefer some fancy dessert. This is so," He paused, licking at his spoon. "Normal."

"My favorite dessert is sanguinacco dolce."

"Sangue." Will hummed. "Blood."

"Blood and chocolate." He affirmed. 

The other laughed into the dark of the kitchen before they were silent for a few moments, each eating the gelato on their respective spoons. He went for another spoonful when Will batted him away, scooping up some gelato and offering it to Hannibal. He knew exactly what the other would do before he did it but he played along, enjoy the domesticity of their current situation. As he predicted, Will pulled the spoon away before it reached Hannibal's mouth and instead, ate it himself. Before he could swallow, however, Hannibal lunged forward, attacking Will's mouth. He could taste the gelato on his tongue as his own entered. Will changed hands with his spoon, using his now free hand to pull Hannibal closer. At the rate they were going, both would be wound up once again. He didn't imagine either would sleep much.

Will returned to the gelato with a content sigh. The next time Will moved to feed him, he didn't pull it away. It was a surprisingly intimate movement and Hannibal was acutely aware he had a heart once more. He had remembered it before when he saw Will slumped from the taser. He wasn't certain when he first came to that Will was alive. He couldn't see the movement of his chest, he didn't know if the other was breathing. He had let out a sigh of relief when Will's head lolled, finally returning to reality. It was only when Will met his eyes that he was certain the other was alive and relatively unharmed from what he could tell. And even still, it wasn't until Will was in his arms that he truly began to breathe again. His heart had stopped thinking he lost the other forever. And it insisted on reminding him of its existence now that Will was next to him.

He turned, memorizing the other's silhouette. He hadn't taken his opportunity to truly draw Will, but he thought he might do it the next morning as the sun filtered in their bedroom. When the light hit him just right, it would be a portrait worthy of the Uffizi Gallery itself. 

"What are you thinking about?" Will whispered.

"Move in with me." In truth, he was planning on asking Will at dinner. He had the whole ordeal planned to the second, something only Will seemed to rival him on. But as always, things had a way of uprooting his plans, though he preferred when it was Will himself doing that. 

He heard Will suck in a breath as their eyes met in the dark. "The dogs-" He began.

"Bring them here." Hannibal pulled the gelato away, setting it on the floor so he could cup the other's face between his hands. "Or we can find somewhere else. I'll build you a palace with grounds enough to have a million dogs." Will discarded his spoon, grasping Hannibal's face as he had Will's. "Just stay." He felt his voice drop to a whisper. "Stay with me."

"Yes."

* * *

"Kiss me, Hannibal."

The other surged forward, clearing what little space was left between them. He was careful to avoid the gelato with the spoons placed carefully on top as he swung himself over Hannibal's body. Hannibal's fingers dug into the bare skin of his back, massaging every muscle there. He would demand this again in the morning when the previous day caught up with him and his already previously injured shoulder, but for now, he had his mind on a different task. He was certain he was already pushing the boundaries by being this intimate in the kitchen as it was. He knew Hannibal might find it rude to have eaten their meal on the floor, but Will had wanted the simple domesticity of the act. 

Will pulled himself away enough to stand. He grabbed the spoons while Hannibal returned the gelato to the freezer. The other moved behind him, running his hands over Will's abdomen while he washed the spoons and forks. He barely had time to put them away and when he was dragged through the house, the bedroom door shutting with a click. 

When Will woke the next morning, he found himself in the bed alone. He started to shift, his eyes flying open to the lack of a body next to him when he heard Hannibal's voice echo through the room.

"Try not to move, Will."

He shifted slightly, moving his head so he could find Hannibal. He was sitting at the other end of the bed, his sketchbook propped up carefully as his pencil moved over the paper. Will readjusted, trying to find the position he was in once more but where he could see the other. He watched as Hannibal's eyes flicked from the page to Will and back. The morning light curved around his body, giving him a halo. When he looked up, Will could see his eyes better than ever, amber with hints of red in them. Hannibal's brow furrowed slightly before his eyes dropped to the page once again. He could hear him brush off the page as he continued his drawing. The scratching of the pencil and their breath were the only sounds echoing in the room. 

Will watched every facial feature cross Hannibal's face. He watched the way the light moved across his cheekbones as he turned his head while he drew. He understood Hannibal's impulse to draw him, as he felt the need to commit everything about the other to memory. The way his hair fell across his forehead, the sharpness of his brow, his cheekbones, the pucker of his lips. He would spend a night, one of the many they had ahead of them, committing every part of Hannibal's body to memory. Hannibal looked up again, their eyes meeting, and he watched as a small smile played over the other's lips. 

Hannibal set his sketchbook aside and stood, coming to the bed and leaning over it to kiss him. Will pulled him down, turning their bodies so they were as mixed together as they could be with him trapped under the blankets. 

"Did you sleep at all?" He asked, running his fingers over the other's cheek.

"A little."

Will's retort was lost with the ringing of his phone. He stretched as much as he could, keeping Hannibal in the same position he was in as he grabbed his phone. He could see Jack's name on the screen and he huffed.

"If he asks me to come in, I need a doctor's note." He muttered before he answered the call. "Hello?"

Hannibal shifted off of him as Will rubbed his forehead. "Hello, Will." Jack paused for a second and Will swung his legs over the edge of the bed. As silently as he could, he padded through the house until he found a street-facing window. As he expected, he could see an SUV sitting across the street, just close enough to watch the house but far enough to appear inconspicuous. That is, inconspicuous to someone who hadn't worked in law enforcement previously. He angled himself so he was out of view of the window but could still watch. "I wanted to make certain you were all right. There are no new cases today but I wanted to check." He paused and Will could see someone shifted in the car. "Are you certain you should still be seeing Dr. Lecter given," Jack's voice trailed off. "Everything."

Hannibal walked to him, moving behind him so he could look over Will's shoulder, the pair of them watching their watcher.

"I'm all right, Jack." He swallowed. "Is Bella ok?"

It was cruel and manipulative to bring up Bella, but it would be enough to throw him for a moment. "She has her good days and her bad days."

Will hummed. He remembered taking care of his father when he had cancer. Cancer didn't care how good or evil a person was. It didn't care how strong or how bold or how brave or how much a person was loved. Cancer was unfeeling and if not caught soon enough, unstoppable. When it came for his father, his bad days already outnumbered his good days. It only worsened from there.

"My father was like that too when he got sick." He could feel Hannibal's eyes on him. "But from what you've told me about Bella it doesn't sound like she lets her bad days get the better of her."

He watched Jack shift in the car, pressing a hand to his forehead. "You're right." He answered quietly. "I should go."

"Thank you for checking on me, Jack."

The call ended with Will still watching the man through the window. 

"He's not going to give up," Will said quietly.

Hannibal's hand rested on his hip. "I know."

He reached for the other's hand, threading their fingers together as they watched through the curtains. Jack's SUV started and pulled slowly onto the road. Given the weekend morning, the road was empty save for a few people walking on the sidewalk. Jack drove slowly by the house before driving off. Will leaned back into Hannibal, feeling the other's steady form press against him. 

"What are we going to do?"

"For now," Hannibal said in his ear. "We are going to eat breakfast." Will smiled, turning his head so their lips could meet. "We will figure out the rest after."


	20. The Hunt Begins

Jack sat at his desk, tapping his fingers on the wood. News of Mason Verger's death had broken early in the morning with Jack waking to several calls and messages from Freddie Lounds demanding a comment. Beverly had also called him, wondering if they were the ones who would investigate the death of Mason Verger. From everything they had learned, it appeared the Verger heir had stumbled into his own pigpen. There was no M.E.'s report yet to tell if Mason was even still alive when the pigs began devouring him, but it came at an odd time. Not long after news of Mason's death found him, another call came. It was Alana who called this time, telling him ahead of time that she would be on maternity leave in a few months but would continue consulting until that time. Now, Jack sat at his desk, his thoughts running circles around his mind. 

Mason's death perfectly coinciding with Alana's pregnancy seemed suspicious enough. But he had yet to force the image of Hannibal and Will arriving at Hannibal's office late at night, both looking worse for wear. They had driven to Hannibal's house and both walked rather slowly to the door. Something had happened that night, but he wasn't certain what. Alana had seemingly vanished for a week after that, and only Will didn't seem nervous. When she returned, she and Will regarded each other coolly before both were at the newest crime scene, neither straying all that far from the other. Whatever happened seemed to involve Alana and now Jack wondered if it involved Margot as well. Had they killed Mason? Had they somehow managed to persuade Mason to impregnate Alana before his death? And what purpose would that serve? 

Any documents having to do with the Verger family were unavailable for public consumption. Jack would need a warrant to dig further into documents concerning the Verger family, but until he received the M.E.'s report, there was no evidence of foul play to even begin an investigation, much less to warrant FBI involvement. So, Jack was left to speculation, unless he took matters into his own hands. 

He said nothing as Will entered the room, setting his newest report down on his desk with a curt nod. He watched as Will left. The other man was not outwardly any different than normal, but there was something different about him. Maybe Jack was right and Will did know about Hannibal. Maybe he was protecting him. _Or_ , his traitorous mind thought, _maybe Will is killing with him._

Jack needed proof one way or the other and he wouldn't find it speculating behind his desk all day. He pulled his phone from his jacket and scrolled through his contacts. He shouldn't be doing this. Any investigation he would do, he should do on his own time. He shouldn't drag anyone else into it, especially if he was wrong. The phone was ringing while he debated with himself.

"Hello, Jack."

"Hello, Miriam." He sighed into the phone. 

"What's going on Jack?"

His fingers absently moved the report around his desk that Will had left behind. "You once said I had a peculiar intelligence." He began.

"Yes," Miriam confirmed. 

"If I said I had a hunch about the Chesapeake Ripper-" 

"What do you need from me?"

"I could use an extra pair of eyes."

He heard a small chuckle on the other side of the line. "Eyes I have plenty of."

He gave her the address to Hannibal's house, telling her to meet him in an hour. It would take that long, assuming traffic wasn't too terrible, for them both to reach it. She agreed and hung up with the promise to meet him then. 

Jack needed to pass the lab on the way from the building, which currently held Price, Zeller, Beverly, and Will. All looked up as he went by, the four of them standing around the newest body. This wasn't a Ripper kill and Jack believed Will when he said as much. He waved them off. Three sets of eyes returned to the body. Will's did not. 

The drive to Hannibal's house felt like an eternity even though he had taken it several times. It was the middle of the day, so it was unlikely the man would return, or even that Will would drop by. Miriam arrived at the same time he did, her small grey car parking behind his SUV. She seemed healthier in the time since she had last seen him. She had returned to the FBI academy, hoping to finish her courses and work as a special agent. She was also undergoing extensive therapy, but nothing could seem to break the fog that had settled over her memory of the last two years. Color had returned to her cheeks and he saw she was more comfortable with the prosthetic she now used. It had been weeks since they were last together but the prior time had included Will as well. Now it was only them. 

It was easy enough for Jack to pick the lock on the front door while Miriam watched over his shoulder. He wasn't expecting to be accosted the moment he stepped through the door, however. 

Seven dogs, all various shapes and sizes, greeted him tails thumping. Jack knew the dogs on sight. They were Will's dogs. He had met them previously and they seemed to remember him as the greeting was more happy than protective. There were boxes, both empty and full, just within Hannibal's study. He could see one of the coats Will often wore hanging on the coat rack just inside the door. There were dog beds, which looked wildly out of place in the overall neat house. Will had moved in with Hannibal.

He had pulled some of the surveillance on Hannibal's house, hoping that the lack of a babysitter would give the man more freedom to kill and Jack could catch him. But apparently, during that time, he had missed Will moving in with him. 

"What are we looking for?" Miriam asked, petting one of the dogs.

"This way," Was Jack's only answer as they moved toward the kitchen. 

Organs didn't keep. They would need to be refrigerated. He doubted that the organs from cases two years ago would still be here, especially given the utter neatness that radiated from Hannibal Lecter. But the Ripper had killed since then. There would be new organs.

"You know anything we find will be inadmissible. No judge will sign off on a warrant based on illegally obtained evidence."

Jack wanted to sigh at Miriam's correct statement. "I just need enough to approve full-time surveillance. Any surveillance I may or may not have currently is off the books. I need a record so I can eventually get a search warrant."

"What are you hoping to find?" Miriam asked as Jack opened the refrigerator.

"Organs."

"The Ripper took organs from his victims," Miriam began. "But we could never figure out what was done with them. Given this house, even with the boxes, it's unlikely there would be two-year-old organs just hanging out in a refrigerator."

"Not two years old." Jack pulled a freshly packaged organ from one of the shelves. "But maybe a few days old."

"That could be animal," Miriam said quietly. 

"So, I'll get it tested."

"This was easy," She said. "What did you need me for?"

Jack looked at the floor. He found himself wondering if there was a basement. It was already a rather large house, what if-

He walked around Miriam and began searching, eventually finding a panel that didn't quite seem to fit. The panel popped open and a rather large staircase revealed itself. He pulled his phone from his pocket and switched on the flashlight. He could see the light reflecting off something below and eventually, he saw the switch on the wall. He stepped down the stairs carefully, dread settling over him. Plastic hung from the ceiling, carefully positioned around a metal table. There was another freezer downstairs which Jack zeroed in on. The basement was meticulously constructed and reminded him of a morgue. It would take a professional to have installed such a thing and he remembered a murder a few weeks prior of a man who worked at a high-end freezer company. He found more neatly packaged organs in the freezer which he grabbed and shoved in his coat quickly. He turned back the direction he came, only to find Miriam frozen on the steps, her hand clenching her prosthetic and her eyes wide.

"Oh god," She whispered, staring forward at the plastic and whatever lied beyond. "I remember this."


	21. The Plan

Jack tucked the neatly packaged organs into his jacket and practically sprinted over to Miriam. She was still frozen, staring into the distance as he hauled her up through the house. He kicked the door shut behind him and half carried her to the front door. He made certain to lock it once more with the pack of dogs whining inside. He pulled her across the street where their cars were parked with Miriam shaking in his arms. Her eyes were blank and Jack wondered for a horrible minute if she was even still with him. She stared beyond him, lost in whatever was consuming her at the moment before she blinked. Her eyes had reddened for a moment, but with the blink, the irritation seemed to fade.

"I remember," She whispered. "I remember." Her shakes were renewed in vigor and Jack wondered if it was partially because of the memories flooding back, rather than the shock it had been earlier. She blinked at him again. "I remember the light. The flashing. I remember a shadow. Only an outline. He was never," She paused swallowing thickly. "I never saw his face. He was always standing in front of the light, making him a silhouette. I remember the plastic behind him. I remember being somewhere dark and cold. I remember the cold and the metal table. I remember-" She blinked again. "He was never cruel. He kept me fed and clothed and often warm. Like he didn't want to kill me, but he couldn't let me go either. Sometimes we would go to another place. I could hear-" Her brows furrowed. "The ocean?" Her hand grasped his where it was clamped to her arm. "His voice," Her eyelashes fluttered. "I've heard it somewhere else."

"Dr. Lecter," Jack said. "I took you to see Hannibal Lecter after we found you."

Miriam stared at his shoulder. "Was that-" She pulled herself away from him. "I'm sorry." He could see the panic in her eyes and hear it in her voice. "I'm sorry. I can't do this. I can't."

She tore herself fully from his grip and practically ran for her car. The door slammed once she was inside and the engine started before she even had her seatbelt on. Jack wanted to stop her and part of him knew he should. He was worried that if she drove with this much panic in her mind, she would find herself in an accident. But it was no use trying. She had pulled her seatbelt on and the engine revved under her foot. She was gone, speeding down the street before Jack could do anything. He stared after her for a long moment, watching the street long after she was gone. 

He shifted on his feet and something cold pressed into his side. His worries over Miriam ceased as he pulled open his jacket. Miriam was strong, and she would know where to find him if she needed him. But they had found what they came for. He would have to wait until Will wasn't in the lab to have it tested. But he finally had something. This was the closest he had been to the Ripper in years. Two years ago, he felt like he was breathing down the man's neck and then the Ripper vanished, Miriam Lass in tow. But now. Now he finally had something. He was finally pointed in the right direction. At least twelve murders could potentially point in the Ripper's direction. Twelve people dead with organs removed. Given that one of the organs currently in Jack's pocket had come from the refrigerator in the kitchen, he couldn't help but feel a wave of nausea. There was a reason they had never found the organs that were taken from the victims. Hannibal Lecter was eating them. Or even worse, he was feeding them to other people too. 

How many people had consumed organs from others without even knowing it? Alana? Will? Miriam? How many people were unintentionally cannibals because of Hannibal Lecter? Did Will even know his soulmate was feeding him other people?

What was worse was that Hannibal was a doctor. He had both an MD and a Ph.D. and had taken an oath to do no harm. And he had done plenty of harm.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and opened his car. He didn't have time to wait or to rejoice about his findings. Hopefully, it would lead him somewhere. But Hannibal's office wasn't that far away and Will would likely be along any moment. He was risking enough just sitting in his car, trying to catch his breath after dragging Miriam from the house. He hoped Hannibal and Will would be too lost in each other long enough for him to have the organs tested. He pulled them from his jacket and set it on the seat next to him. He rarely had reason to use the cooling function of the car seat, but now he did. Organs wouldn't keep in the heat.

He likely broke several laws driving back to Quantico.

* * *

Hannibal knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into his house. He knew something was different, something was missing.

The dogs greeted him happily as they always did. They were still acquainting themselves with Hannibal's house and the abundance of hardwood floors, but they had known Hannibal for quite some time now. It was easy enough for them to wake up with him every day. That combined with the fact that Will had likely returned home smelling like him often was enough to have the dogs, including Will's newest Winston, on his side. Winston had been skeptical of him the first night they were moved to his house. Hannibal had wondered if Will would stay up all night with his pack to make certain they didn't destroy anything, but the dogs seemed to make themselves at home easily. There was a lot of smelling, something Hannibal found endearing before most had curled up on their beds and happily fell asleep. Most seemed to enjoy the fires that Hannibal often left going in the evening hours. Winston had slept at the foot of Will's side of the bed the first night and woke with Hannibal the next morning. The dog came around easily when Hannibal fed him, making him promise not to tell his father, or the others, that he had snuck him treats under the table. 

The layer of dog hair around the house was something Hannibal was slowly becoming used to. Will did his best, but with seven dogs it was hard to keep all the hair under control. Hannibal found he didn't mind having to brush himself off every morning. Especially not when he saw the small smiles Will would shoot his way upon seeing it. He was becoming maddeningly used to lazy morning breakfasts and someone else at the table for every meal that mattered. It was strange to find that every morning, he would wake from seeing Will in his dreams to seeing Will splayed across the bed next to him, curls pressed against the pillow. He never dreamed he would have such domesticity in his life. He was certain once Mischa was gone, that was it for his attempt at a home. Or at least a home with someone else. And then came Will, who could see all of him, and loved him anyway. 

It wasn't the dog hair, or the slowly emptying boxes that bothered him. To his surprise, it was Winston to seemed to notice what he was looking for. The dog walked up to him, nudging his hand with his nose, and then turning toward the kitchen. Hannibal followed, wondering if maybe the dogs had found their way into something they shouldn't have. Outwardly, there was nothing wrong. The kitchen was as immaculate as always, with everything in place. That was until he saw the smudge on the refrigerator handle. He always gripped the handle in the same spot and he knew exactly where Will touched when he opened it. If there were any fingerprints, they would be in the exact same spots. Creatures of habit and all that. No. This was higher. This was a larger thumb. 

He pulled the door open slowly and immediately noted the hole on one of the shelves. Something was missing. Winston stood by the door to the basement, staring at him and Hannibal walked toward him. Will had told him over and over that his dogs were rather intelligent and Hannibal had been vehemently against it. 

_They're just dogs._

He opened the door to the basement, finding the light still on. Will was right of course. About more than just the dogs.

Someone else had been in his house.

Someone found his basement. 

Someone _knew._

He shut the light off and took a breath. He let the dogs out and they happily scattered about the small backyard, sniffing and crashing into each other. He and Will would take the dogs on walks every evening, another oddly domestic thing Hannibal was becoming used to. He wasn't certain he and Will would make it to their evening walk. 

He watched the dogs mill about the backyard, leaning against the door as he did. Will would be heartbroken having to leave them. Maybe they could take one or two. But all seven would be hard to move across the world. He suspected he would take Will to Florence. He had been debating taking him there anyway, showing him Florence as he saw it. Oh, Will had been to Florence before. But not with Hannibal. Will's last trip to Florence had included murder, however. Maybe they shouldn't start in Florence.

Perhaps Paris.

He pulled his cellphone from his pocket as it began to ring. 

"Hello."

"Jack knows." He wouldn't say he was surprised to hear the words leave Will's mouth.

He knew Will wouldn't say anything else over an open phone line. Too much risk.

As he suspected, the line went dead on the other end. Any wiretaps on them would be illegal at this point, but Will wasn't reckless enough to test the limits. He had heard the rest of the message in Will's words. Will wanted him to run. He knew that wherever he went, Will would find him. They were tied together too tightly at this point to ever truly be separate. Wherever he went, a part of Will would go with him and wherever Will was, a part of him would always be. He could practically feel the words burning into his chest once again. 

The dogs sniffed around happily in the yard. 

He wouldn't exactly say he would miss them, but he had grown rather fond of them. He assumed Will would want to bring Winston, out of any of his dogs. There wouldn't be enough time to secure them homes this night though. There would barely be enough time to run. The accounts listed under Hannibal Lecter would soon be frozen and his passport flagged.

He moved into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. He smelled it, inhaling the bittersweet smell of the grapes before taking a sip.

He had grown fond of this life and all that he had cultivated in it too. He was fond of Bedelia and the relationship they had cultivated. Or rather, the relationship that Bedelia had cultivated with a piece of him. As she so accurately put it, his person suit. He was fond of Alana and Margot, and the bargain the four of them had struck. He doubted either of them would turn on him. They would risk losing everything that way. And, of course, Will would say nothing. He would rather die than see Hannibal behind bars or dead. But he would go to the extreme to protect Will too.

As he sipped his wine, a plan began to form in his mind.


	22. The Execution

He knew this day would come. He had known for months now that this day was slowly creeping upon him. What he didn't want to was for it to have happened so suddenly. He had known Jack was hot on Hannibal's trail for a while now. Beverly had told him as much, and he had seen Jack watching him every time he had the chance. He would watch him as though at any moment he would snap and reveal himself as the Ripper. But the moment Jack came into the lab, he knew something was wrong. Jack hadn't seen him when he walked in, likely assuming that Will had left by then. He watched as Jack pulled neatly wrapped organs from his jacket. He knew those organs. He knew the wrapping of the organs. He had seen them every morning. He knew those came from Hannibal's refrigerator. He knew it.

Hannibal would know Jack was in his house.

He left without saying goodbye and called Hannibal. He tried his best to look calm as he walked to his car, but the movement was more like a half-run. The conversation was a total of three words spoken between them.

And then the race began.

He was racing against his team. He was racing against Jack. He was racing against Hannibal, hoping to clear everything out as Hannibal ran. And Hannibal should run. Will could handle everything. Even if he took the fall for Hannibal's crimes, he knew Hannibal would find a way to return to him. To free him. They would find each other again. He knew it with every piece of himself. They were soulmates after all. They could be on opposite sides of the planet and he would always be able to find him.

It took forever for him to drive to Hannibal's house. Every second felt like an eternity and every minute felt even longer. How it was possible for a minute to last so long? Naturally, he was behind the slowest people when driving. Naturally, it was rush hour. Naturally, there were a million things that took precious seconds out of his control. And control was something he needed desperately. He needed to be in control here as much as possible. Hannibal would need to be in control as much as possible. They were racing against people Will had worked with. He knew them. He knew Hannibal would never make him choose between his friends and Hannibal. But he would choose. He chose Hannibal. Over and over he chose Hannibal. 

He broke speed limit laws as he sped through the residential roads to their house. But his heart broke, finding Hannibal's Bentley still in the driveway. His heart broke hearing his dogs bark in the backyard. They were out, which meant Hannibal was still there. Hannibal was _still there._ He would walk into the house and find Hannibal waiting for him.

_What was he doing? Why was he still there? Why didn't he run?_

He burst through their front door, hearing the dogs skitter across the floor to greet him. He absentmindedly petted their heads as he waded through them. He knew Hannibal would be in the kitchen. He wouldn't be in the bedroom packing. He wouldn't be cleaning out the basement. He wouldn't be gone. He would be there, sipping wine to greet Will like every day when he arrived home before Will did. 

He chided himself for wanting to kiss him. And also wanting to kill him. 

He entered the kitchen and saw Hannibal standing there, a glass of wine in hand. Will launched himself at him, and Hannibal barely had enough time to put his glass down, before Will was wrapping the other in his arms. Hannibal hugged him back and they stood for a moment, completely still. Will tucked his head into Hannibal's neck, inhaling the scent he had grown so familiar with. Hannibal had a plan. Of course, he would have a plan. He would absolutely have a plan.

Right?

He pulled himself back and clasped Hannibal's face between his hands. 

"What are you doing?" His emotions were building, ready to block his throat. "Why are you still here?"

Hannibal raised a hand gently to his face and ran his thumb over his cheekbone. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Will breathed instantly. 

"You will know how to find me, my love," Hannibal whispered, leaning forward.

"I'll find you."

Hannibal leaned forward and their lips pressed together. Will deepened the kiss, sensing that this would be the last one they shared for a while. The other obliged, their tongues meeting. He drew his breath from Hannibal, feeling it sink into his lungs as though the other had given him his life. 

Then he felt the knife.

* * *

Jack arrived to find a bloodbath.

It had only been a few hours since he was last at Will and Hannibal's house and yet-

He walked up to the door, seeing the house sit perfectly still in the night. There were no lights on in the house, there was no sign that there was anything human alive inside. But he could hear the baying of dogs just inside the door and suddenly, he was struck with worry.

He first had to have the organs tested that he brought to the lab — they were human — and Jack nearly vomited. It was then that he went to a judge. He hated bothering judges at home — they were less amicable that way — but he was able to obtain his warrant. Especially after he spoke the word "cannibal."

He knocked first and suddenly the baying inside became louder. Behind him, he could hear Beverly shift nervously. He looked over his shoulder, eyes meeting Beverly's, then Price's, then Zeller's. A silent exchange passed between them before Jack took a step back. He balanced himself and shifted back on one leg before kicking the door. The door splintered and suddenly he was accosted by dogs.

Bloody dogs.

He pulled his gun from its holster on his hip and pointed it ahead of him. His heart seemed to stop in his chest. He had been in this house only a few times before, even earlier that day. But this felt different. There was an air in the house that hadn't been there previously. An ominous, terrifying air. Something had happened and now he was left to find the pieces. The dogs ran back and forth between the kitchen and where Jack stood in the entryway. He nodded to Price and Zeller who went one direction, toward the study and bedroom while he and Beverly followed the parade of dogs to the kitchen. It was strange that he could smell the blood before he actually saw it. He didn't know what he expected to find but it wasn't Will in a pool of his own blood, clutching his abdomen. 

"Get an ambulance!" Jack yelled as he rushed forward, falling into the pool of blood next to Will.

Will's body shook, likely from shock and adrenaline. Jack turned him until he was on his back. He saw the long gash across Will's stomach, which every movement caused more blood to spurt from. Jack pulled his jacket off, his gun long abandoned somewhere next to him. He could hear Beverly yell into her phone, demanding medical attention immediately. He pressed his jacket against the wound in Will's stomach. Will's ocean-colored eyes were wide, but he said nothing. His eyes were focused on the ceiling above him, as though the meaning of life was plastered somewhere above him. He didn't even know if Will could hear him as he tried over and over to tell him to keep calm. But Will still stared at the ceiling, body convulsing as Jack pressed against the long wound. 

He could hear every heartbeat that thundered in his chest but he wasn't certain he was breathing. All he knew was that Will was going to bleed out if the ambulance didn't arrive fast enough and every second they wasted was too slow. Beverly still yelled into her phone, demanding things move faster. Price and Zeller entered the kitchen. One pulled off his jacket and shoved it under Will's head and the other joined Jack, pressing against the wound. 

"He should live," Price assured in his ear. 

"Should," Jack muttered.

He could feel bitterness building within him. Hannibal had escaped and he left Will bleeding out on the floor. Will, his soulmate, was bleeding out on the floor of his kitchen, with only dogs for comfort until Jack arrived. He couldn't help but feel as though it was his fault. He had so wanted to catch the Ripper that he had forgotten the collateral damage along the way. And now Will joined Miriam in the list of victims left behind the tornado that was Hannibal Lecter. 

EMTs arrived after an eternity and Jack numbly moved aside. 

Price and Zeller told him that the house was clear, there was no sign of Hannibal anywhere. His Bentley was gone and some clothes from his closet. With Hannibal's resources, he could be anywhere. He was already gone.

The Chesapeake Ripper was in the wind.

Jack followed the ambulance to the hospital almost mechanically. Beverly, Price, and Zeller had stayed behind to examine the scene that was left for them. Jack knew what they would find. It would be only Will's blood on the floor. There would be human organs in the refrigerator. They would find a kill room in the basement and more organs in the freezer. They would find however Hannibal managed to cover himself so he never left any traces. Jack guessed it would be a suit of some kind. They could spend hours cataloging the house. And then there was Hannibal's office. They would have patients to visit, acquaintances to meet. He would have to look Alana Bloom in the eye and tell her not only that her mentor and friend was the Chesapeake Ripper, but that he had also nearly murdered his soulmate. 

He would also have to explain how he had managed to obtain the evidence that led to this discovery. If it were a less high profile case, the Bureau might sweep it under the rug. But not with the Ripper. Even catching the Ripper wouldn't undo the damage he had done to his career. He knew he would have to explain, but mostly, he couldn't bring himself to care. They had a name now, a face. Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

He couldn't help the nausea that swelled in him once more. It was _him_ who put Will in Hannibal Lecter's path. The might never have been soulmates if Jack hadn't interfered. And Will wouldn't have been left to die on the floor of his kitchen if Jack had just insisted on someone else.

Will was in surgery for hours. Jack paced the length of the waiting room as he waited to hear something, anything. He called Bella, and then he called Bella again. At some point, Beverly joined him. And then Alana. He assumed Beverly must have called her. Her belly had already begun to swell just slightly. She settled herself into a chair and waited patiently. More patiently than him away. Margot Verger came next, sitting next to Alana, their hands intertwining. Neither said anything and Jack couldn't help but think both looked incredibly stoic. Price and Zeller came next. 

It felt like a wake. He was certain the surgeon and nurses would exit the operating room and make the funeral march to where the wake was waiting for the news. He could almost see the Grim Reaper himself moving through the halls.

He was surprised when Bella joined him. She had been growing increasingly weaker over her treatment, but she still fought it every day. Jack knew she did it for him, but he was grateful nonetheless. Bella settled into one of the hard chairs and raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed and relented, joining her, and the rest of the wake, in the waiting room.

Beverly left to find them some food and coffee.

They sat in the waiting room.

Alana made arrangements for Will's dogs.

They waited.

Beverly, Price, and Zeller told him they had cataloged the important items at Hannibal's house and they would return later for the rest, along with Hannibal's office.

They waited.

Jack answered a call from Kade Prurnell, saying that he would answer all her questions once Will was safely out of surgery. 

They waited some more.

Eventually, someone appeared. Jack stood as a surgeon entered the lobby, still massaging the hand sanitizer into his hands. 

"For Will Graham?" The surgeon asked. Jack nodded and everyone around him sat up. The surgeon had several pairs of ears waiting to hear whatever news he would deliver. It was an eternity.

"Will is out of surgery." Jack joined the collective sigh of relief. It was then that Miriam appeared, wide-eyed and hastily thrown together. "The laceration was done by an expert hand. Will was very lucky. He is resting at the moment. We have him in a drug-induced sleep for the time being until he has some strength back. After 24 hours, he should be out of the woods and may be able to have visitors."

Jack's body sagged, the stress that was holding him up finally releasing. "Thank you, doctor." He said.

"He won't be in any condition to have visitors tonight." The surgeon reiterated. "You should go home and get some sleep."

Jack nodded absently and the surgeon left. He took stock of those around him, each in various states of exhaustion and disarray. There would be more to clean up tomorrow. More to do. More questions to answer. But for now, all that could be done was done.

He had a feeling that Beverly wouldn't leave and she stated as much seconds later. She turned and planted herself in her seat, folding her arms. "I don't have anyone waiting for me. But he should have someone waiting for him."

Jack nodded, unable to say any more. To his surprise, Miriam planted herself next to Beverly, the two of them holding vigil for Will that night.


	23. We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Will looked up at the facade of the Norman Chapel in Palermo, the last few months running through his mind. 

He had woken, staring at the fluorescent lights of a hospital room. The world around him came into focus slowly. The lights were the first thing he saw. And then he saw a head of dark hair and a wide smile. He blinked, the other person coming into focus. Beverly grinned at him, shifting in her chair. He twitched, feeling a stabbing pain in his stomach. His hand flew to his abdomen, feeling the bandage that was wrapped around him. His mind drifted back to the last moments he could remember in the kitchen. He remembered the pained look on Hannibal's face, the feel of the knife in his abdomen. He remembered Jack trying to coax him to be calm as he pressed against Will's already aching abdomen. But mostly his mind kept flitting back to Hannibal.

Had he managed to escape? Was there enough time? Had his plan worked?

"You know if you wanted Hannibal Lecter to penetrate you, there were safer ways to do it."

Will laughed, dragging himself from his thoughts, then winced, his hand gripping his abdomen. Beverly shifted in her chair, a small smirk on her face. 

"How are you feeling?" She asked after a moment. 

"Thirsty," He answered.

She smirked again before reaching over to the bedside table and helping him with the cup of water there. She pulled it away and set it down and he shifted in the bed, trying to see her better. 

"How long?"

"Two days." She folded her hands. "We went to Hannibal's house, your house, with a warrant to arrest him." She swallowed thickly and Will waited for her to continue. "You were already gone when Jack came back to the lab with these neatly packaged organs. He didn't say where he had gotten them, he only demanded that we test them and immediately." Her eyes fell to the blanket covering his legs. "They were human. We think Hannibal noticed they were missing and when you came home-" She cut herself off and blinked slightly. "When we found you, you were in a pool of your own blood. Jack lost it. He's been on a warpath for days trying to find Hannibal." She looked up at him again, a guilty look on her face. "I should have believed him. But I thought his theory was insane. Maybe we could have caught him sooner and you wouldn't-" She sighed. "But you lived." She tried to sound upbeat but Will knew better. "Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper." Will swallowed thickly. "I'm so sorry, Will." Her eyes flitted to his bare chest.

He absentmindedly reached up, his fingertips brushing across the words over his heart. His mind brought him back to the night the words appeared and Hannibal's expertise in his drawing. He could see the vulnerable look in his amber eyes and the way they were drawn to each other. He could feel Hannibal's hand on his cheek as it had been only two days earlier. He didn't know when he would have that touch again, the touch of his soulmate.

"Have they found him?" He asked quietly.

"No," Beverly answered. "We think he fled the country."

 _He got away._ Will thought, relieved. He didn't let it show though, his hand dropping from his chest. 

"His passport was used for a flight to Paris. But there's no trace of him arriving in France. It's as though he vanished completely on the plane ride there." She shrugged. "Jack's angry. Every moment he's not here, he's out there looking for Hannibal." She smiled slightly. "You've had quite the parade of visitors." Will raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah." The subject seemed to cheer Beverly up more. "Alana and her girlfriend, Margot. Jack and Bella. Miriam Lass."

"Miriam?" Will asked suddenly, surprised.

Beverly nodded. "I think it's because you're the only other person who has seen the Ripper and walked away." She nodded to the other chair in the room that was also positioned facing the bed. "Price and Zeller came once. And then of course there's me. The best of them."

She grinned and Will laughed again before groaning once more, pain rocking through him. 

"I'm sorry," She said with a grin. She wasn't.

Will smiled, looking up at the ceiling.

Will was released from the hospital a week later. The first month was the hardest. It was the hardest because he was in pain and alone. Alana insisted that she keep his dogs until he could bend over without crying out in pain. But he was trapped in that damned large house without anyone. He would wake up alone, feeling the bed cold beside him. He would walk through the house, haunted by the ghosts of happier times. He knew what he had to do, the things that needed to be done, but quite unfortunately Hannibal couldn't do anything without a hint of drama to it. So, Will was stuck waiting for himself to heal with only the ghosts for company. At night, he would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and replaying conversations over and over in his mind.

_"Tell me about your childhood, Hannibal," Will whispered, his head pillowed against Hannibal's shoulder. "Or tell me something happy."_

_Hannibal's hand ran through his hair, his other hand clasped with Will's._

_"When I was a young man, a teenager, I went to the Norman Chapel in Palermo." Hannibal's voice echoed in the dark of their room, the sound of his voice comforting Will as much as his touch. "I have always been fond of Roman art, architecture." Will smiled against his shoulder. He knew this already. "I went to a boarding school in Paris in my youth. After my parents and sister died, my aunt and uncle took me in. I spent a summer in Florence, where I would return when I was older. The first summer I spent in Florence, I traveled around and eventually found myself in Palermo. I remember walking up to the Norman Chapel for the first time. I remember feeling something akin to awe hum inside me. Bold, beautiful, and timeless. The chapel has a single reminder of mortality engraved on the floor. A skull."_

_Will closed his eyes as Hannibal spoke, seeing everything as Hannibal spoke. He pictured a young Hannibal Lecter walking up to the chapel and stepping inside it for the first time. He pictured the look of awe on his face and wide amber eyes taking in each and every sight._

_"I am a curator of beautiful things, and I have only seen one other singular thing as beautiful as that chapel."_

_"What?" Will asked._

_"You."_

The empty bed tortured him every day.

In the second month, his dogs were returned to him. His pack nearly jumped all over him and Will was ecstatic to see them, so much he tolerated the pain. Alana smiled happily at the sight of Will reunited with part of his family. He petted each dog individually before looking up at Alana. She had taken on a glow to her skin. It wouldn't be noticeable that she was pregnant, as she had only just started to show, if he didn't know any better. She bent awkwardly, petting Zoe with a small smile.

"She got along the best with Applesauce." Will smiled, remembering Alana's dog and picturing Zoe, underbite and all, with Alana and Margot and their soon to be child. The Verger heir. 

"Do you want her?" Will asked quietly and Alana's eyes shot to his. "I'm thinking it's time for a change," He said quietly. "I could only bare to part with them if I knew they were going to a good home." Winston leaned against his leg, big brown eyes staring up at him lovingly. "Except you, of course."

Alana smiled slightly, a knowing look in her sky-colored eyes. "I suppose we could always do with another nanny dog." 

He had visitors, here and there. Most seemed uncomfortable setting foot in the house that belonged to the Chesapeake Ripper. Will would receive stares in the mornings when he left the house for appointments or what little work he was permitted to do. And again when he arrived home at night or when he took the dogs on walks. People would stare and whisper amongst themselves that _he_ was the one the Chesapeake Ripper left alive. He was the one who lived with him. He was Hannibal Lecter's soulmate.

It was only because of Freddie Lounds that anyone knew anything about his relationship with Hannibal. Freddie was by far the most invasive journalist Will had ever come across. He had barely dozed off in his hospital room when she barged in, threw back the covers, and took a picture of his temporary colostomy bag, and the words over his heart. Everywhere Will went, everyone knew, or at least it felt that way. He had wanted to kill Freddie for that, but he didn't. It would cause too much suspicion and Hannibal had gone to great lengths to make certain all the suspicion was on him and only him. 

By the third month, things took a sad turn. Bella's battle with cancer took a turn for the worst after Will left the hospital and a month later, she could barely move from bed. Will was in no condition to go see her, to thank her for coming to see him, but he sent along a card. By the third month, she had passed away, slipping away peacefully in her sleep. Will hated funerals, he always had. The last one he had been to was for his father, when he stood in the rain feeling nothing except the cold. But he went anyway. He dressed himself in a suit that he knew Hannibal would approve of and drove the agonizing hour and a half drive to the funeral home in Virginia. He was the first to arrive for Bella's wake, and the last to leave. He didn't, however, leave empty-handed. On Will's way out the door, a very stoic Jack handed him two letters. One was addressed to Jack himself and Will immediately recognized the neat script of Hannibal.

_Jack,_

_I'm so sorry about Bella._

_Hannibal_

It was a short note, but it conveyed everything Hannibal wanted it to. The second letter was unopened and addressed to Will. He waited until he was home again, lying in his empty bed with only the light from the lamp on the bedside table illuminating the room. Winston sat at his side, curled up onto Hannibal's pillow.

_Will,_

_I know we never knew each other, not truly. But I know Jack always spoke very highly of you. As you can imagine, Jack is my soulmate just as Hannibal Lecter is yours. Knowing that, I know the connection that is present, and the agonizing pain that comes when that connection is lost. It feels as though part of you is no longer there, as though you are missing a vital piece of yourself. For this reason, I must ask you to forgive Jack for his continued hunt for Hannibal. He means well._

_Take this piece of advice with you, in whatever future you foresee for yourself. Who you are bound to does not define you. But rather you define your connections._

_Bella_

Will set down the letter with a small smile.

By the fourth month, he was visited often by Miriam Lass. The two of them never said much, sharing a meal or even a drink in the darkness of the house. He was surprised that she even came, but every time she seemed to leave more at peace than when she arrived. Will offered her her pick of his dogs, except for Winston. She left with Jack which Will thought was rather ironic. Jack began to visit more in the fourth month too, still not completely giving up the hunt for Hannibal. Will knew part of him came to see if Will would lead him to the other man, but he left with the same amount of information he arrived with. Except for one time, when he left with a very excited Max.

Price, Zeller, and Beverly each adopted one of his dogs until there was only Winston left. Every morning the two of them would follow their same routine. Wake up. Go outside. Breakfast. A small walk. Will went to work. Will came home. A longer walk. Dinner. Bed.

By the fifth month, Will was invited to a wedding. He had not seen his friends and colleagues together since Bella's funeral, but they had all arrived for Alana and Margot's wedding. Alana was further along and showing by the time the wedding day came. Margot had asked him to be a part of the wedding.

"Will you be my-"

He cut her off, "Maid of honor?"

She laughed.

And it was Will who stood behind her as she and Alana exchanged vows. The wedding, however, by far left the biggest hole in his heart. He wasn't a social person, not really. The small group he had cultivated was mostly strays and a few humans. But his dogs now belonged to those other humans. And yet he longed to find his human. He longed for Hannibal. Bella had been right. She had known that the largest hole in his life, in himself, was Hannibal Lecter. He knew Hannibal was putting together a life for them. He that Hannibal had given him time to put things in order. To take care of his dogs and their house and Hannibal's office. He knew that he had given Will a chance to organize the mess left in his wake, even if that wasn't what he wanted initially. And Will had. His dogs were taken care of. He was finishing the last of his classes at Quantico, the last class he would ever teach. Miriam was in that group. 

But the wedding was an acute reminder that Hannibal was missing from his life. That his soulmate wasn't there. But he could feel him, as though there was an invisible string tying them together. He knew when Hannibal was awake. He knew when he was missing him. It felt as though they were sometimes doing the same things even across the world. He knew that sometimes, when he looked up at the sky on his walks with Winston, that Hannibal was looking at the sky as well. He knew when Hannibal drew him from memory. He could see him in his dreams.

By the sixth month, Miriam had completed her course work at Quantico. Will had attended her graduation, standing in the back as her personal cheer section. He never attended for any other student, but now he and Miriam had a bond of their own and the scars to prove it. Miriam would soon take over Will's place in Jack's team. 

For all that anyone knew, Will was leaving Baltimore, but they didn't know where he was going. He gave different answers every time he was asked. Sometimes he said he was going to travel for a bit. Sometimes he said he would be returning to New Orleans. Sometimes he said he would try to track down some family.

The only people who knew better were Alana and Margot. Both of them were apart of the same deal Will had made once. Just as he was bound to Miriam and Hannibal, he was bound to them as well. They shared a secret now, the truth. Neither Alana nor Margot said anything when they were questioned by the FBI and Jack Crawford about Hannibal. Margot had said she was under the impression that he was an eccentric albeit unconventional therapist, but he was always helpful. Alana said that she had never suspected her mentor and longtime friend was the Chesapeake Ripper.

_It just doesn't seem like the Hannibal Lecter I know._

By the seventh month, Alana gave birth. Will felt it was his responsibility to sit in the waiting room while Alana delivered, Margot at her side. Alana had been there for him, after all, he would be there for her. He visited Applesauce and Zoe while the others were in the hospital and he was glad to know that both dogs were being taken care of. And, naturally, they had plenty of room to run. Will had returned to the hospital to find Margot who dragged him into the room Alana and their son Morgan were in. Alana smiled at him, wide and happy, as Will met the newest member of the Verger family. He was the Verger heir. Margot's life was now hers to control once again. For the next 18 years, Margot and Alana were the trustees of the Verger fortune until Morgan came of age, and even then, Will doubted the boy would cut off either of his mothers. 

Both women asked him to be one of Morgan's godparents. He saw the subtle question in there as well. They weren't just asking Will, they were asking Hannibal and he knew Hannibal would be fine with Will speaking for him. He had always hated churches, but at Morgan's baptism, he couldn't help but feel the closest he had to Hannibal in months. His hand subconsciously went to the scar on his stomach. It was healed fully, just a long thin line that claimed him as Hannibal's as much as the words over his chest did. 

By the end of the seventh month, Will sold Hannibal's house. It had taken some time to deconstruct Hannibal's murder basement and he often found himself cursing the other man for his constant need for elaborate and dramatic things. The basement was meticulously constructed and it took weeks to pull apart. But Will knew the house wouldn't sell with a murder basement in it. Even if the people who bought it were serial killer enthusiasts, like much of America was, it was unlikely even they would be comfortable with the freezer in the basement reminding them of Hannibal the cannibal.

In the sixth month, Frederick Chilton copywrited the phrase "Hannibal the cannibal." Will laughed every time he heard it. It was ridiculous and absurd and perfectly Hannibal Lecter. 

By the beginning of the eighth month, Will had spent the night at the Verger estate. The next day, he and Winston were due on a flight to Palermo. 

The flight was long and grueling and Will could only imagine how much worse it would be if he hadn't somehow acquired an addition of funds that allowed him to book seats in first class for not only himself but Winston as well. It wasn't exactly mysterious, where the money came from. It was a gift from two of the many people Will now shared bonds with. 

Will couldn't sleep during the flight, finally feeling something other than the longing and heartache that he had become so used to over the last few months. Part of him wondered what it would be like to see Hannibal again. He wondered what it would like to have the hole within him filled once more. 

Winston was more than happy with the accommodations for the flight. Will was worried there would be a problem, but Winston was a good dog. Though they would have to immediately find the outside once they arrived in Palermo. His tail wagged happily as he watched every flight attendant move by. Most stopped to pet him and Will could hear loud thumping on the seats. 

The closer Palermo came, the more Will's nerves began to rise. Emotions fought their way into his throat and he watched with bated breath as the plane found its way over land once more. After what felt like an eternity, the plane touched down. And Will could almost touch Hannibal. 

He and Winston found their belongings easily and Winston was finally able to relieve himself. They took a taxi to the hotel Will would be staying in until he found Hannibal. He knew he wouldn't have to wait long. Hannibal would know the moment he arrived. They would find each other soon. 

The first day, however, Will's jet lag bested him and he spent most of it dozing in and out of sleep. That night he had a relatively simple dinner at a small restaurant near the hotel he was staying at. He took Winston for a walk and it was then that he caught a glimpse of Norman Chapel. He had been in Hannibal's childhood home, he had slept in the same room the other once occupied. But this felt closer to Hannibal than even that had. Hannibal was here. He could feel him as though Hannibal's fingers grazed over his cheek. They were close, the closest they had been in almost a year. And Will's heart went silent in his chest.

The next morning, he took Winston for a walk and ate a modest breakfast. The dog slept happily as he left the hotel room and made his way to the chapel. It was within easy walking distance and before Will knew it, he was staring at the entrance to Hannibal's mind palace. 

He sucked in a breath and stepped inside. 

There were only a few people within the chapel, and Will skipped over all of them. They didn't matter to him. Only one person did. And that person was purposefully staying out of sight. He explored the chapel, feeling himself begin the dance he and Hannibal had started over a year ago. They circled each other, dancing toward and away from each other until eventually, they came crashing together. And they would again. They would crash together and finally return to where they belonged. Will had never felt a sense of home before. But he suddenly knew, with absolute clarity, that his home was near. He spent the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon in the chapel without Hannibal appearing once. And Will wanted to laugh. Even now, even after everything, they were still playing the same game. 

He sighed, finally rising from the chair he had been occupying and walked from the chapel, only to freeze the moment he stepped from the door.

He didn't hear him, he didn't feel him, but he knew he was there. His heart started once again.

"Going my way?"


	24. Home

Life.

What a concept.

Life is a foreign, unknowable thing. Humans try to understand life. Try to reason with it, try to make sense of it, try and try to know what happens every day they are forced to live it. Life always ends, giving up those it can't keep. Life is full of twists and turns. It's a rollercoaster. It gives and it takes and then it gives and takes more. Life is terrifying and exciting and dangerous and miserable and every day is a repeat all over again. To make the rollercoaster easier, Life gave those who live it soulmates. The other half of someone to make the terror and excitement of every day easier until Death comes in the end. Some find their soulmates. Some find their soulmates. Some may spend more than one life searching for them. Some never need to find them at all.

Hannibal didn't think he would need a soulmate. He thought he could live Life alone. He thought that the loneliness within him was something he could live with. Until Will Graham. His Will. 

Eight months was murder. It was hard enough living without thinking he deserved a soulmate. It was worse knowing that they were apart. 

He knew the moment Will arrived. He knew the moment the plane touched down and he and Will were breathing the same air once again. He wasn't surprised when he first saw Will that he was walking with Winston. The dog trotted next to him, gazing up at him adoringly before finding something new to sniff. Hannibal wouldn't admit aloud that he had become quite fond of the dog. But it wasn't Winston that made Hannibal's heart thud irregularly in his chest. It was Will. Hannibal had admitted once that he cultivated beautiful things and nothing to him was as beautiful as Will Graham. His mind, his imagination, his understanding. They were what drew Hannibal first, like a moth to a flame. But he would never deny that Will was beautiful in body, in his smile, in the careful way he guarded himself and the way his ocean-colored eyes would light up when they saw Hannibal. He longed to run his hand through Will's hair, to pull him close, to smell the scent of his skin, to feel-

Anything other than the terrible pain in his heart and the hole at his side. 

But he would wait. He could see the slump in Will's shoulders, the exhaustion he carried with him as he walked. It was unlikely Will slept on the flight. He would wait.

One more day.

He had waited a lifetime for Will. He could give him a day to adjust.

Hannibal knew exactly where he would find him the next day. He watched from the shadows as Will took in the sights of the Norman Chapel. He could see the entrance to his mind palace forming the same entrance as his own. They were built next to each other, sharing rooms and more importantly, each other. He could see the way Will sucked in a breath at the sight of the skull on the floor. He could see his hand travel over columns and chairs. It was as though, just as he had with Hannibal's office, Will was claiming the entrance to his mind palace for himself. For hours he stood, watching Will until his body began to ache from his position. He left right before Will did and suddenly he was aware of his heart once more. And the person it belonged to. 

Will paused, staring at something in the distance as Hannibal approached, just outside the chapel.

"Going my way?"

Will turned, his body taut like a cat ready to pounce. It took an eternity for that gaze to be on him once more and when it was, he wanted to drown in it. His memories didn't do the man in front of him justice. His memories couldn't quite capture his eye color or the jut of his jaw. It didn't quite capture the stubble on his cheeks, the curls in his hair, the pout of his lips. 

Will launched himself at Hannibal and he pulled the two of them from the crowd and toward the side of the building. They were wrapped in each other, crushing together as though they could mold themselves into one being. One of his hands pressed against Will's lower back while the other fisted in his hair. Will's arms were wrapped around him, one around his neck and the other around his hips. Will's face was buried in his neck and Hannibal mirrored him, burying his face against Will and inhaling deeply. Here he was. His Will. Where he belonged once again. With Hannibal. And Hannibal was where he belonged once again. With Will. He thought he knew what home was, but now he was certain his original definition was wrong. He was home.

Will's hand fisted in his jacket and he could feel the laugh rumble through him before it came from his lips.

"You're in leather."

Will pulled back slightly, his eyes running over him. 

"Does it meet your standards?"

"I have long since stopped having standards for you. You always surpass them."

Hannibal smirked. "Then I suppose I should show you something else."

Will raised an eyebrow but came willingly as Hannibal walked toward his motorcycle. 

"If you wanted to seduce me, this is a great way to do it," Will muttered, running his fingers over it. His eyes were glued to in, awe evident on his face. 

"Let me show you Palermo, Will." 

Will's eyes slid back to him once more and Hannibal could see a million emotions running through them. "There's something I need first."

"Anything," Hannibal breathed. 

Will stepped closer and Hannibal knew exactly what he needed because Hannibal needed it too. Their bodies pressed closer as their lips pressed together. Hannibal's eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his hand to Will's cheek, his thumb running over his cheekbone. Will's hands cupped his face, holding him closer. His hand moved around to press against the back of his neck, feeling the hair at the base of his head. 

"I love you," Hannibal whispered when they finally pulled apart for air.

"I love you too." Will's forehead was pressed against his. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Will pulled back slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Show me Palermo, Hannibal."

Hannibal handed Will the other helmet as Will straddled the motorcycle, sitting behind him. The warmth of the other's body pressed against his back and Hannibal realized just how much he had missed the little things. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring Palermo. Will's body was pressed against him on the motorcycle, their hands were clasped when they were walking. Every time Hannibal spoke, he could feel Will's eyes on him, watching him as though he were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. His eyes jumped over his face, his body, his lips. Hannibal gave him facts here and there, showing him small places he had found when he explored it in his youth and places he had found as he waited for Will to come to him once again. As the sun began to set, they ate gelato and walked the length of the block in front of Will's hotel. 

Will explained everything that had occurred since Hannibal's rapid departure eight months ago. He explained about Alana and Margot's wedding, Bella's funeral, Miriam's graduation. He told him where the rest of his pack ended up, and the birth of the Verger heir. He told him about his recovery and Hannibal couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as his eyes dropped to Will's abdomen. He knew exactly what he was doing as he cut into him, but it didn't make the deed any less painful for either of them.

"You were right," Will said, pulling him from his thoughts. "Any suspicion Jack had about me is long gone." He took Hannibal's hand and pressed it against where they both knew the long, thin scar on his abdomen would be. "As am I."

Eventually, they walked into the rather lavish hotel Will was staying in.

"Courtesy of Mrs. and Mrs. Bloom-Verger," Will said as they entered the room he was staying in. "They send their love and demand for you to be Morgan's other godfather. I already told them you would."

There was a hint of mischief in Will's eyes as he spoke.

Hannibal was greeted by Winston as they arrived, the dog's tail thumping loudly against the wall as he pressed against Hannibal. They took Winston on a small walk. Hannibal felt the small present in his pocket grow heavier by the second, but he was ever one for perfect timing. He would wait until the right moment to give it to Will.

The last eight months had been far less eventful for him than for Will. He had arrived in Paris and used his considerable funds to vanish. All accounts registered to Hannibal Lecter were frozen but he a few others, just in case. He was always careful and prepared. He started in Paris, building the life he and Will would spend the rest of their days in. A few dead bodies and some excellently forged paperwork and Hannibal had his and Will's new identities. He moved to Florence next, securing a job for himself and readying the place he hoped would be a home for him and Will. He made certain it was dog friendly, having a feeling that Will would not be joining him alone. It was lonely, and empty until he had the strangest inkling that he wasn't going to be alone for much longer. He traveled to Palermo and had waited all of 12 hours before he knew Will had arrived. 

The two of them returned to Will's room and Winston curled up in a corner, satisfied and worn out from his walk. He heard the lock click behind them as he explored the room. It was not Will in any way and to him it was endearing. It was endearing because he knew Will had picked the room to fit Hannibal. And now they were together once more. 

Will walked behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressed his chin against his shoulder. Hannibal felt himself sink into the touch, leaning against Will and resting his head against the other's. He would be satisfied with this. He would be satisfied knowing that after everything, he had his Will once again. 

"God I've missed you," Will whispered into his ear. "I've missed your voice." Will's lips pressed just under his ear. "I've missed the words on your chest." His hand pressed over his heart. "I've missed the way your hair sits on your head. I've missed your eyes." The heat of his breath sent gooseflesh down his body as his lips pressed against the side of his neck. 

Hannibal turned in his arms until they were facing each other. Their lips met gently, almost chastely. But it conveyed much between them. 

"I've missed the way your hair falls over the pillow in the mornings," Hannibal whispered against the other's lips. "I've missed your imagination and the brightness in your eyes. I've missed your touch. I've missed the feel of your hands and the taste of your skin." He kissed him again. "I've missed you." He reached into his pocket, feeling the cold metal press against his hand as he pulled it free. "I never thought I would miss someone this way. I miss Mischa every day. But not like this. I never thought I would have a soulmate. That I wouldn't need anyone." He pressed his forehead against Will's breath mixing between them. He brought his hand between them, just close enough that Will could see what he was holding in his grasp.

"Marry me, Will."

* * *

"Marry me, Will."

Will sucked in a breath, his eyes flying to the silver band Hannibal was holding. He lunged forward then, pressing them together in a heated, desperate kiss.

"Yes." He breathed against him. "Yes." He pressed a kiss against his jaw. "Yes." He kissed his neck. Hannibal accommodated his every touch, moving whichever way Will wanted him to move. He could feel Hannibal's hand move downward, finding his. He could feel the ring slip over his finger and it was only then that he felt Hannibal wearing a similar band. He knew Will's answer already.

Will flexed his hand, feeling the ring on his finger before he kissed Hannibal again. He pressed every emotion he had into the kiss and into his crushing grasp as he pulled Hannibal closer. He fisted his hand in the other's hair, his kisses becoming more demanding. More needing. God, he needed him. And Hannibal seemed to need him just as much. Gone were the chaste kisses they had shared earlier. Gone were the soft, loving touches. They were replaced by something more demanding. Something needier. Something just slightly darker. Will pressed against him and they moved through the room, shoes discarded somewhere along the way. They fell onto the bed, their bodies pressed tightly together. 

He was tempted for a second to tell Hannibal to keep the jacket on, but the idea slid from his mind the moment he slid his hands inside. He could have his fun with the leather jacket some other night. But now, he needed to feel him. He needed the last barrier between them gone. He needed Hannibal and only Hannibal. Their combined efforts made the jacket fly somewhere across the room along with Will's jacket. Their hands explored as though they were feeling each other's body for the first time. One of Will's hands fisted in the other's hair, pressing him close and deepening their kiss. They practically tore at each other's clothes, and he could idly hear the rip and tear of fabric. He wasn't certain who's clothes were torn until he felt the press of Hannibal's body against his. And he shivered. 

He was on fire and electrified and every touch made it worse. Their bodies tangled together, hands clinging to skin. Hannibal fisted his hand in Will's hair pulling his head back slightly to pillage his mouth as he saw fit. Will moaned, feeling a small, content smile pull at his lips. And he was. He was content and happy and whole once more. 

Hannibal's mouth moved from his to his throat. They turned so Hannibal was above him, his mouth latched to the pulse point on his neck. Will turned his head slightly, letting Hannibal have free reign of whatever he wanted while Will's mouth latched on his shoulder. He felt Hannibal's teeth sink into his skin at the same moment his teeth sunk into Hannibal's. They would leave their marks in each other once again, claiming them as much as every other mark they left did. 

The other let go of his neck in favor of trailing worshipful kisses down his body. He kept his hand fisted in Hannibal's hair as he trailed downward, kissing his chest, abdomen, running his tongue over the scar on his abdomen. 

"I'm sorry," He whispered against his abdomen, pressing tender kisses over his scar.

"I forgive you."

Hannibal moved back up his body, their lips meeting once more. 

"Tell me what you need, Will." Hannibal kissed his jaw before running his tongue over his earlobe. "Tell me and I will give it to you."

"You," Will whispered. "Just you."

"However you will have me."

Will shifted slightly, grasping Hannibal's chin and forcing him closer. He could feel the small, mischievous smile pull at his lips. "I'll have you every way."

"You're going to eat me alive," Hannibal hummed. 

Will flipped them until he was straddling the other's waist. "That's the idea." 

Their lips crashed together once again. He held his grasp on Hannibal's chin as the other's arms wrapped around him. He ground their bodies together, feeling his erection brush against Hannibal's. Everything he had said was true. He had missed so much of the little things about Hannibal. But he missed this too. He missed the other layer of their connection and the needed the seeped from each other. He missed the darkness within him that rose to meet his own. He missed the way they fit together. Hannibal's nails dug into his back as they rutted together. He sat up slightly, angling himself as best he could to grab the lube he had brought from the bedside table, while still keeping his grasp on Hannibal. 

He discarded it next to them before returning to the other, their mouths fitting together once again.

He wasn't certain he would ever tire of Hannibal. Of the feel of his mouth. Of the strength of his hands and the muscles that tensed and flexed under his skin. Of the way he knew exactly where to touch to set him on fire and where to touch to douse him. 

They ground against each other. He could probably orgasm just from this. Just from the touch of Hannibal and their bodies pressed together. But that wouldn't satisfy the other need within him. Though he doubted either would be satiated once this night. 

He grabbed the lube and finally let go of Hannibal's chin. Instead, he sat up, using copious amounts of it before wrapping his hand around Hannibal's length. The other let out a low moan as his body arched into Will's touch. What he was planning would hurt, but he wanted it to. He wanted to feel everything. They had the rest of their lives to be gentle, for careful touches and readying movements. He shifted until he was situated properly. Hannibal watched with lust-filled amber eyes as he sank down.

It burned. But not as much as he would have suspected. Hannibal moaned again as he seated himself, their bodies pressed together. Hannibal's hands moved to his hips while Will leaned forward, pressing one hand next to Hannibal's head and other covering the words over his heart. He lifted himself slightly, feeling Hannibal shutter with the movement, and lowered himself once more. The movement pulled a moan from his own lips. Hannibal's fingers dug into the skin of his hips and their eyes met.

"Don't look away," Will whispered and Hannibal nodded. 

Their bodies moved in tandem, Will riding him and Hannibal thrusting to meet his every movement. Hannibal shifted slightly and on their next movement, Will felt him graze his prostate. And he moaned.

He could hear the slap of skin on skin, as somewhere within them, their darkness stirred. He could feel Hannibal's reach for his, tangling together as they belonged. He lowered his body, sandwiching his hand awkwardly between them as he pressed his lips against the other's, their bodies still moving in tandem. He released the other's lips in favor of his neck, biting and sucking a bruise into his flesh as Hannibal had done on him. The other pressed upward, their bodies shifting upward on the bed until Will was in Hannibal's lap. He shifted his hand, wrapping his arms around him as Hannibal did the same. Their forehead pressed together lightly, shifting with every movement of their bodies. 

"Don't let me go," Will whispered.

"Never."

His untouched cock ground between them, the friction driving him wild. Any gentleness Hannibal had when they began left as his pace began to quicken. They shifted again until Will's head fell against pillows with Hannibal over him. Their eyes were still locked together as Hannibal thrust into him. His pleasure was building in his gut but even more than that, he felt intense, choking love for the other man. 

Will's legs wrapped around him, pressing them even closer. Hannibal's hands dug into his shoulders and his hands dug into the other's back. His body tensed, pleasure becoming almost unbearable as it pooled in his gut. 

"Hannibal," He breathed, his back arching of its own volition.

"Will."

That was all it took. His name spilling from the other's lips and the million emotions that were put into it. He came with a cry and Hannibal was right behind him. Their bodies crashed together, both breathing hard, but neither letting go. He buried his face in Hannibal's neck. 

Home.

He was home. 

"I love you."

"I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want you all to know that I read and love every comment. I adore the things you have to say and getting comments is my favorite part of the day. Thank you very much. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


End file.
